A drabble is a short work of fiction with exactly 100 words (not including the title). I decided to write one as sort of a challenge. They're fun little things, kind of like a literary puzzle: there are 100 pieces, and with them you have to create a beginning, middle, and end that flow and make sense. Anyway, enough with my analogies, I'll just let you read the drabble!
A Grasshopper on a Summer's Day
The sun’s rays pierced threw the green foliage of the weeping willow I was sitting under, reflecting off my laminated bookmark as I placed it inside my novel. I exited my leafy shelter and saw a cricket flowing downstream in the creek beside the tree. I bent down to scoop him up, my red hair touching the water. I held him in my cupped palms, gently blowing his wings dry. His body was the color of the grass all around me; his gossamer wings, almost translucent, but had tinges of iridescence. Chirping a few bars of thanks, he flew off.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
NaNoWriMo
Happy NaNoWriMo! NaNoWriMo is a challenge for people to write a 50,000 novel in the month of November. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. I have wanted to do it since I first heard about it a few years ago. The closest I have ever come to writing a novel is my novella, 'War is Not a Game of Chess', though, but I do have sixty pages of a real novel that I am working on, perhaps NaNoWriMo will help motivate me. One year, when I can have more of a say with my schedule, I will take the month off and do a real National Novel Writing Month novel. But until then, I will just inform my followers, who, for your sakes' I hope have a more flexible agenda about it.
This is the link to the NaNoWriMo website:
NaNoWriMo
(Sorry I have been writing out NaNoWriMo so much, but it is really fun to type! ;-))
This is the link to the NaNoWriMo website:
NaNoWriMo
(Sorry I have been writing out NaNoWriMo so much, but it is really fun to type! ;-))
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Ghost Story
In honor of Halloween I have written a short story to spook you all before you gorge yourselves on candy. (Just kidding, it is not really that scary, but it was super fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it! ;-))
I am frozen in fright; my feet are rooted to the ground. A pale wisp of moonlight peeks through the thick trees on the outskirts of my family’s farm, reflecting off my white nightgown; no doubt I look like a ghost. The rays of pallor light cast eerie shadows, which I hardly notice, across the forest floor; shadows are the least of my worries now. Cappie, my tabby, yowls. I never should have gone out looking for her in the middle of the night, believed my Da that cats can survive the night outside, even if she had always come in to curl up in front of the fire every other night of her life. I never should have followed the lady with the long black hair and apple skin red cheeks into the woods on the promise she had my cat, even if it was true. Far away, I can hear bells of the chapel in the small town on the hill announce that it is midnight, November 1st, 1817. I can no longer feel my legs, or my hands. I don’t look down, but I already know what is happening to me. There is a fluttering of wings beside me, and then I hear it, the incessant, evil cackling that poke needles of ice up and down my spine, it is the last thing I hear before my curse overtakes me…
“My feet hurt!” Complains my younger brother Finnigan, his clunky Buzz Light-Year costume clearly weighing him down.
“Mine too!” Squawks the miniature Cinderella next to me in a most un-princess like manner.
I moan inwardly, little siblings are such a drag! The sun had been down for all of ten minutes before they faded like little violets. “All right you two, let’s go home.” We walk the five blocks back to our house on the end of a cul-de-sac. I walk up the stairs to our front door, nearly tripping over my red devil’s cape and tail. Inside, our parents are watching reruns of daytime soap operas that have been recorded on our DVR. My little brother and sister run to them, digging through their candy bags to show off their biggest chocolate bars and M&M bags.
Standing in the doorway, I wait for permission to go back out into the night where I have promised to meet my friends. When at last I am dismissed, I bolt out the door, and this time, I really do trip on the stairs, landing higgledy-piggledy on the cement. “Crap!” I breathe in through my mouth. Looking myself, I find that I have skinned the heel of my hand, something I have not done since the third grade. I roll my eyes at my stupid clumsiness and continue walking down the street.
I meet up with my friends Natalie and Lila in front of Hollyhock Farm Park. Natalie is dressed up as a clown with a ridiculous amount of face makeup that makes her smile overly enthusiastic and a fake red nose. Lila is going as a shower, so the curtain blocking me from seeing her face.
“Hey Mags!” Natalie greets when she sees me coming. Lila echoes her.
“Hey guys! Lila, can you see at all?”
“Nope,” my friend giggles.
“Well, let’s get started shall we?” Natalie and I grab hold of Lila on either side and start heading down the road, stopping at each house to collect our treats.
Over the years that we have trick-or-treated these streets, we have mapped out who gives out what where. We go to Shuster Road first. This is the richer street in our neighborhood, and the street that hands out the yard long licorice and king sized candy bars. Then we go down Pinebark St., Dunthorp Pl. and avenues one, two, three, four, and six. We skip 5th avenue because the people who live down that way have been trying to put the trick back in trick-or-treat for years and have banded together to only give out plastic spiders and the key chains shaped like pigs and cows that have brown stuff protrude from its posterior if you squeeze it.
I look at my watch, and it is almost midnight. The pillowcase I am using to collect candy is bulging with goodies, though I am not ready to go back to my house quite yet.
“Hey guys, does anyone want to take a little detour through Hollyhock Farm Park?”
“Sure!” They giggled in unison.
“I was planning to head there anyway, my Mom only let’s me keep half of my candy, so I’m going to bury it in the park and tell her I already threw it away,” Natalie says.
“Gosh, I didn’t know she did that, I’m super sorry Nat,” Lila chortled.
“I doubt you are, it’s okay,” Natalie hugged the shower curtain, “I love you anyway.
The entrance to the park suits the Halloween mood perfectly, the moon is thinly veiled with clouds, and glows like a will o’ the wisp.
“So, Natsters, where is this secret candy hideaway you were talking about?” inquires Lila.
“I was thinking in the woods somewhere,” Natalie replied, “come on, let’s go!” She grabbed Lila-the-blind-shower-curtain, and started running through the park towards the trees.
I ran after them, following their shrieks and outlines in the dark. The cement walkway gave way to packed dirt, and I tripped over a root. I call out for them to slow, but their shouts drowned out mine, and soon they were out of earshot. I stumbled to lean against the tree whose roots had tripped me, and rubbed my ankle. I looked up at it. It was unlike the other trees in the park, it had a thick trunk and twisted limbs. There were burls on the tree that almost made a face in half-light, one that had a look of warning and horror. I put the thought out of my mind quickly
Something black flapped past my head. A bat flitted and landed in the tree, there was something strange about it that I could not quite place, than I realized it had red eyes. I kid you not, glowing red eyes, like the Halloween decorations that were hung from the eves of my house. Only this one was real. At this point I was thoroughly spooked and was about to take off at a run down the path, when I heard a far away cackle. One that seemed to be nearing very quickly.
A figure materialized in front of me. And though I could not see her face, which was cloaked in a hood, I could hear her voice like shards of icicles that pierced my ears.
“Well, look what we have here. It seems a little lamb has strayed too far from the heard. She has the exact same look as the last one, don’t you think Cappie?” The stranger’s attention was directed upward. The red-eyed bat peered down with a look of contempt and hissed. “Well that’s no way to treat me is it?” the woman flicked a bony wrist and the bat fell to the ground.
She’s a witch, I thought. I knew that if I had been in my right mind I would not have thought that, but it was the only answer I could come up with, and as it turned out my out-of-my-right-mind self was right.
“Such a pretty thing you are,” the witch took a vial out of her sleeve, I couldn’t see what was in it, but it could not be anything good. “Come on Deary, drink up,” she held out her hand as if to give me the vial.
I found my voice.
“Are you crazy?”
The witch sighed, apparently disappointed. “I so hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but an incentive such as this has always motivated people like you to comply with me in the past,” she raised a hand, which, seemed to glow slightly and an image appeared in her hand, hazy at first, then coming slowly into focus.
I find it strange that when you reach a certain point of terror, your mind comes up with the oddest of thoughts. As the haze focused, my only discernable thought was my inner geek whispering hologram.
All thoughts disappeared from my mind completely when I realized what she was showing me. My friends, Lila and Natalie were caught in a net of moving darkness. They looked horrified, and in pain.
“You’ll have to choose Deary,” she chided me in a sing-song voice, “it’s you or them.”
I could feel my hands shaking at my sides, and a cold sweat ran down my spine. I couldn’t let anything happen to my friends, but how could I know that she wouldn’t do anything to them once she was through with me. I was about to ask her this when I felt three consecutive buzzes at my side, my phone. A flicker of hope fluttered inside me. I turned around so that I faced the tree and pretended to cry – well, it wasn’t really pretending. I brought my devil’s cape up around me so that she wouldn’t see the light of my phone as I read the text.
Omg mags, where r u? r u lost rofl wud b just like u *NATBUG*
I put my phone back in my pocket. Lila and Natalie were safe. The haze was an illusion, but though I was reassured about my friends, I did not see how the information would help me escape. One thing I was sure of though, if I drank whatever was in that vial, it wouldn’t be so hot for me.
“Crying will not do any good for you. Choose, you, or your friends.” Her tone of voice was more that of someone asking a child to choose between two flavors of ice cream.
My mind was racing. I didn’t know how to defeat a witch. Would she melt with water like the Wicked Witch of the West? Did she have some detrimental element she couldn’t be in close contact with like Superman and kryptonite? My tongue felt like paper, I had no weapons or options. In the end I did something I hardly ever do. I let impulse take over.
I ran at her, grabbing the vial out of her hands and smashed it onto her shoes. A puff of green smoke came wafting up; it smelled like decaying leaves after a rainstorm. She shrieked in fury, she reached out for me, and soon we were grappling with each other. I knew I had to get away; it was only a matter of time before she placed a hex on me. She was already muttering in a language I did not recognize, and, for someone who had hands that looked as decrepit as hers, she was strong.
After what could have been years I managed to slam her against the tree. I heard a sickening crunch that made my stomach churn. I was sure I had broken her back, but then I noticed a bag slung over her shoulder, shards of glass had broken through it. It appeared to be some sort of potions bag, and all the liquids had just broken out.
I only had time to think of a less-than-very-highly-thought-of synonym for excrement when the whole thing exploded and I blacked out.
I woke up to a pounding head and a torn cape. I looked up, and the witch leaned against the tree in the same spot I had left her. I got up and went over to her. Her features were hard. I reached a shaky hand out to touch her, and there was no doubt about it, she had turned to stone. Something icy touched my shoulder, and I whirled around in a start. There, in front of me, stood a girl, well, she more floated than stood. She wore what looked like a nightgown, but it was hard to tell because she glowed eerily and looked like she was made of mist. A similar mist seemed to be bubbling up from the body of the bat. I expected to see a bat ghost to come flitting out, but when the mist finally shaped, a cat came trotting over and rubbed itself against the girl’s leg.
“Thank you for freeing us,” her voice was a whisper.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, at a loss for anything else to say, “What’s your name? I asked.
“Charlotte Hollyhock, and this here is Cappie,” she indicated toward the cat at her feet.
“Like Hollyhock Farm, Hollyhock?” I felt like I had been eating sand, and probably sounded like it too, but the curiosity thrust the words out.
“Yes, I lived there with my family until the witch turned me into that tree,” Charlotte sighed. It could have been a trick of the misty light, but it looked as if a tear rolled down her cheek.
There was rustling and familiar voices coming up the path towards us. Natalie and Lila. And quick as a wink, before I could say anything else to the mysterious girl and her cat, they dispersed like so much dandelion fluff on the wind, and then were gone altogether.
“Hey, there you are! What happened?” Natalie asked, when they finally reached me.
“I tripped on this tree root and hurt my ankle, I tried to get your attention, but you were already gone.”
“Oh, oops. Well, we haven’t buried the candy yet because we were looking for you. If your ankle is, like, broken you don’t have to come, but the spot’s not far from here.”
“No I’m fine.” I cast one last wary look at the tree that had been Charlotte Hollyhock, and my friends followed my gaze.
“That’s funny,” said Lila who had opened her shower curtain so that she could see, “I don’t remember that rock being there.”
“It wasn’t.”
Lila, thinking I was making another one of my jokes, giggled and grabbed me by the hand. “Come on, Silly, let’s go.”
We headed down the bridleway, skipping willy-nilly. Though I was still thoroughly spooked, and began to wonder: if ghosts and witches were possible on Halloween then what else was? I kept on seeing things out of the corner of my eye and urged my friends to hurry up.
I am frozen in fright; my feet are rooted to the ground. A pale wisp of moonlight peeks through the thick trees on the outskirts of my family’s farm, reflecting off my white nightgown; no doubt I look like a ghost. The rays of pallor light cast eerie shadows, which I hardly notice, across the forest floor; shadows are the least of my worries now. Cappie, my tabby, yowls. I never should have gone out looking for her in the middle of the night, believed my Da that cats can survive the night outside, even if she had always come in to curl up in front of the fire every other night of her life. I never should have followed the lady with the long black hair and apple skin red cheeks into the woods on the promise she had my cat, even if it was true. Far away, I can hear bells of the chapel in the small town on the hill announce that it is midnight, November 1st, 1817. I can no longer feel my legs, or my hands. I don’t look down, but I already know what is happening to me. There is a fluttering of wings beside me, and then I hear it, the incessant, evil cackling that poke needles of ice up and down my spine, it is the last thing I hear before my curse overtakes me…
“My feet hurt!” Complains my younger brother Finnigan, his clunky Buzz Light-Year costume clearly weighing him down.
“Mine too!” Squawks the miniature Cinderella next to me in a most un-princess like manner.
I moan inwardly, little siblings are such a drag! The sun had been down for all of ten minutes before they faded like little violets. “All right you two, let’s go home.” We walk the five blocks back to our house on the end of a cul-de-sac. I walk up the stairs to our front door, nearly tripping over my red devil’s cape and tail. Inside, our parents are watching reruns of daytime soap operas that have been recorded on our DVR. My little brother and sister run to them, digging through their candy bags to show off their biggest chocolate bars and M&M bags.
Standing in the doorway, I wait for permission to go back out into the night where I have promised to meet my friends. When at last I am dismissed, I bolt out the door, and this time, I really do trip on the stairs, landing higgledy-piggledy on the cement. “Crap!” I breathe in through my mouth. Looking myself, I find that I have skinned the heel of my hand, something I have not done since the third grade. I roll my eyes at my stupid clumsiness and continue walking down the street.
I meet up with my friends Natalie and Lila in front of Hollyhock Farm Park. Natalie is dressed up as a clown with a ridiculous amount of face makeup that makes her smile overly enthusiastic and a fake red nose. Lila is going as a shower, so the curtain blocking me from seeing her face.
“Hey Mags!” Natalie greets when she sees me coming. Lila echoes her.
“Hey guys! Lila, can you see at all?”
“Nope,” my friend giggles.
“Well, let’s get started shall we?” Natalie and I grab hold of Lila on either side and start heading down the road, stopping at each house to collect our treats.
Over the years that we have trick-or-treated these streets, we have mapped out who gives out what where. We go to Shuster Road first. This is the richer street in our neighborhood, and the street that hands out the yard long licorice and king sized candy bars. Then we go down Pinebark St., Dunthorp Pl. and avenues one, two, three, four, and six. We skip 5th avenue because the people who live down that way have been trying to put the trick back in trick-or-treat for years and have banded together to only give out plastic spiders and the key chains shaped like pigs and cows that have brown stuff protrude from its posterior if you squeeze it.
I look at my watch, and it is almost midnight. The pillowcase I am using to collect candy is bulging with goodies, though I am not ready to go back to my house quite yet.
“Hey guys, does anyone want to take a little detour through Hollyhock Farm Park?”
“Sure!” They giggled in unison.
“I was planning to head there anyway, my Mom only let’s me keep half of my candy, so I’m going to bury it in the park and tell her I already threw it away,” Natalie says.
“Gosh, I didn’t know she did that, I’m super sorry Nat,” Lila chortled.
“I doubt you are, it’s okay,” Natalie hugged the shower curtain, “I love you anyway.
The entrance to the park suits the Halloween mood perfectly, the moon is thinly veiled with clouds, and glows like a will o’ the wisp.
“So, Natsters, where is this secret candy hideaway you were talking about?” inquires Lila.
“I was thinking in the woods somewhere,” Natalie replied, “come on, let’s go!” She grabbed Lila-the-blind-shower-curtain, and started running through the park towards the trees.
I ran after them, following their shrieks and outlines in the dark. The cement walkway gave way to packed dirt, and I tripped over a root. I call out for them to slow, but their shouts drowned out mine, and soon they were out of earshot. I stumbled to lean against the tree whose roots had tripped me, and rubbed my ankle. I looked up at it. It was unlike the other trees in the park, it had a thick trunk and twisted limbs. There were burls on the tree that almost made a face in half-light, one that had a look of warning and horror. I put the thought out of my mind quickly
Something black flapped past my head. A bat flitted and landed in the tree, there was something strange about it that I could not quite place, than I realized it had red eyes. I kid you not, glowing red eyes, like the Halloween decorations that were hung from the eves of my house. Only this one was real. At this point I was thoroughly spooked and was about to take off at a run down the path, when I heard a far away cackle. One that seemed to be nearing very quickly.
A figure materialized in front of me. And though I could not see her face, which was cloaked in a hood, I could hear her voice like shards of icicles that pierced my ears.
“Well, look what we have here. It seems a little lamb has strayed too far from the heard. She has the exact same look as the last one, don’t you think Cappie?” The stranger’s attention was directed upward. The red-eyed bat peered down with a look of contempt and hissed. “Well that’s no way to treat me is it?” the woman flicked a bony wrist and the bat fell to the ground.
She’s a witch, I thought. I knew that if I had been in my right mind I would not have thought that, but it was the only answer I could come up with, and as it turned out my out-of-my-right-mind self was right.
“Such a pretty thing you are,” the witch took a vial out of her sleeve, I couldn’t see what was in it, but it could not be anything good. “Come on Deary, drink up,” she held out her hand as if to give me the vial.
I found my voice.
“Are you crazy?”
The witch sighed, apparently disappointed. “I so hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but an incentive such as this has always motivated people like you to comply with me in the past,” she raised a hand, which, seemed to glow slightly and an image appeared in her hand, hazy at first, then coming slowly into focus.
I find it strange that when you reach a certain point of terror, your mind comes up with the oddest of thoughts. As the haze focused, my only discernable thought was my inner geek whispering hologram.
All thoughts disappeared from my mind completely when I realized what she was showing me. My friends, Lila and Natalie were caught in a net of moving darkness. They looked horrified, and in pain.
“You’ll have to choose Deary,” she chided me in a sing-song voice, “it’s you or them.”
I could feel my hands shaking at my sides, and a cold sweat ran down my spine. I couldn’t let anything happen to my friends, but how could I know that she wouldn’t do anything to them once she was through with me. I was about to ask her this when I felt three consecutive buzzes at my side, my phone. A flicker of hope fluttered inside me. I turned around so that I faced the tree and pretended to cry – well, it wasn’t really pretending. I brought my devil’s cape up around me so that she wouldn’t see the light of my phone as I read the text.
Omg mags, where r u? r u lost rofl wud b just like u *NATBUG*
I put my phone back in my pocket. Lila and Natalie were safe. The haze was an illusion, but though I was reassured about my friends, I did not see how the information would help me escape. One thing I was sure of though, if I drank whatever was in that vial, it wouldn’t be so hot for me.
“Crying will not do any good for you. Choose, you, or your friends.” Her tone of voice was more that of someone asking a child to choose between two flavors of ice cream.
My mind was racing. I didn’t know how to defeat a witch. Would she melt with water like the Wicked Witch of the West? Did she have some detrimental element she couldn’t be in close contact with like Superman and kryptonite? My tongue felt like paper, I had no weapons or options. In the end I did something I hardly ever do. I let impulse take over.
I ran at her, grabbing the vial out of her hands and smashed it onto her shoes. A puff of green smoke came wafting up; it smelled like decaying leaves after a rainstorm. She shrieked in fury, she reached out for me, and soon we were grappling with each other. I knew I had to get away; it was only a matter of time before she placed a hex on me. She was already muttering in a language I did not recognize, and, for someone who had hands that looked as decrepit as hers, she was strong.
After what could have been years I managed to slam her against the tree. I heard a sickening crunch that made my stomach churn. I was sure I had broken her back, but then I noticed a bag slung over her shoulder, shards of glass had broken through it. It appeared to be some sort of potions bag, and all the liquids had just broken out.
I only had time to think of a less-than-very-highly-thought-of synonym for excrement when the whole thing exploded and I blacked out.
I woke up to a pounding head and a torn cape. I looked up, and the witch leaned against the tree in the same spot I had left her. I got up and went over to her. Her features were hard. I reached a shaky hand out to touch her, and there was no doubt about it, she had turned to stone. Something icy touched my shoulder, and I whirled around in a start. There, in front of me, stood a girl, well, she more floated than stood. She wore what looked like a nightgown, but it was hard to tell because she glowed eerily and looked like she was made of mist. A similar mist seemed to be bubbling up from the body of the bat. I expected to see a bat ghost to come flitting out, but when the mist finally shaped, a cat came trotting over and rubbed itself against the girl’s leg.
“Thank you for freeing us,” her voice was a whisper.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, at a loss for anything else to say, “What’s your name? I asked.
“Charlotte Hollyhock, and this here is Cappie,” she indicated toward the cat at her feet.
“Like Hollyhock Farm, Hollyhock?” I felt like I had been eating sand, and probably sounded like it too, but the curiosity thrust the words out.
“Yes, I lived there with my family until the witch turned me into that tree,” Charlotte sighed. It could have been a trick of the misty light, but it looked as if a tear rolled down her cheek.
There was rustling and familiar voices coming up the path towards us. Natalie and Lila. And quick as a wink, before I could say anything else to the mysterious girl and her cat, they dispersed like so much dandelion fluff on the wind, and then were gone altogether.
“Hey, there you are! What happened?” Natalie asked, when they finally reached me.
“I tripped on this tree root and hurt my ankle, I tried to get your attention, but you were already gone.”
“Oh, oops. Well, we haven’t buried the candy yet because we were looking for you. If your ankle is, like, broken you don’t have to come, but the spot’s not far from here.”
“No I’m fine.” I cast one last wary look at the tree that had been Charlotte Hollyhock, and my friends followed my gaze.
“That’s funny,” said Lila who had opened her shower curtain so that she could see, “I don’t remember that rock being there.”
“It wasn’t.”
Lila, thinking I was making another one of my jokes, giggled and grabbed me by the hand. “Come on, Silly, let’s go.”
We headed down the bridleway, skipping willy-nilly. Though I was still thoroughly spooked, and began to wonder: if ghosts and witches were possible on Halloween then what else was? I kept on seeing things out of the corner of my eye and urged my friends to hurry up.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Self Portrait Poem
I have written several self portrait poems in my life, but this one is my favorite so far. Many of the stanzas are descriptions of young childhood experiences. I wrote them kind of abstractly, so unless you know me really well you might not get it. I read all of my comments though, and am happy to answer questions. :-)
White blonde hair and a round head
Like corn silk on a melon
Tall and lanky for such a young age
Nicknamed string bean by her parents
Spending all the hours of the day
Out in the garden
Talking to the plants
And fairies
Blankets are placed strategically
Shielding a network of chairs
The center is a table
The stronghold
Stuffed animals line the perimeter
Watchful sentries
Piglet is captain of the guard
Her charge plays with her twin inside
A golden pupil surrounded
By an iris of blue
Then a deeper blue
As the day grows older
The blue turns to
Purple, pink, orange
And reflected gold
A wink of green before a nightly slumber
An event no camera could catch
Lives, kingdoms, seasons, tides
Rise and fall at the turn of a page
A constant fascination
Words that weave tapestries as thick as if
The world in the book really existed
Something she is constantly trying to copy
As she dons pink spectacles
And wiggles her fingers above the keyboard
Placing them on it
She is not always so sure
Where those nail-chewed digits will lead her
But figures it out before long
Not the most common pass time
For a teenager who could be texting
Or blowing out her eardrums
But it is what she chooses
Balls of fluff
Some bigger than others
Some purr, some bark
Hunters and herders alike
She adores them all
And they call a truce
So that they can curl up on her bed together
So far away from any real kind of civilization
That the apocalypse would go unnoticed
The lake melted from a glacier
Even the sapphire has never known that kind of blue
Aspen leaves quiver in the slightest of breezes
Giving the impression of a gale
Wooden dock bathed in the sun
And the fear inspiring dare
When the courage is almost gathered
An embarrassing faux pas
Gasp, choke, splutter
Flailing to get out of the liquid iceberg
And up to the laughter of the on lookers
Evergreens turn to broadleaves
A great river gorge gives way
To sagebrush and cattle ranches
Without warning, the cornfields appear all around
Going on for miles
At long last
The mountains are reached
Immense wildlife and intense beauty
The land of restless earth
Of geysers and mud pots
The full spectrum of colors
In a pool so hot, you would have thought it cold
The steady rhythm of hooves rocking
A form of transportation as familiar as walking
A surprisingly short steed
For a girl of her height
They have known each other too long
To part
The oldest and best of friends
The kind that never judge
And know the need
To fly
Tearing up the earth underneath them
And dodge under and around blackberries
Familiar with each other’s movements
Intuiting what to do next
Correctly
She knows her twin better than just about anyone
A million inside jokes
No one else could ever guess the meaning
Though used to being called by the name of her twin
It never stops becoming irritated when it happens
They don’t even look that much alike
Even those they have known them for years
Still fall for it
White blonde hair and a round head
Like corn silk on a melon
Tall and lanky for such a young age
Nicknamed string bean by her parents
Spending all the hours of the day
Out in the garden
Talking to the plants
And fairies
Blankets are placed strategically
Shielding a network of chairs
The center is a table
The stronghold
Stuffed animals line the perimeter
Watchful sentries
Piglet is captain of the guard
Her charge plays with her twin inside
A golden pupil surrounded
By an iris of blue
Then a deeper blue
As the day grows older
The blue turns to
Purple, pink, orange
And reflected gold
A wink of green before a nightly slumber
An event no camera could catch
Lives, kingdoms, seasons, tides
Rise and fall at the turn of a page
A constant fascination
Words that weave tapestries as thick as if
The world in the book really existed
Something she is constantly trying to copy
As she dons pink spectacles
And wiggles her fingers above the keyboard
Placing them on it
She is not always so sure
Where those nail-chewed digits will lead her
But figures it out before long
Not the most common pass time
For a teenager who could be texting
Or blowing out her eardrums
But it is what she chooses
Balls of fluff
Some bigger than others
Some purr, some bark
Hunters and herders alike
She adores them all
And they call a truce
So that they can curl up on her bed together
So far away from any real kind of civilization
That the apocalypse would go unnoticed
The lake melted from a glacier
Even the sapphire has never known that kind of blue
Aspen leaves quiver in the slightest of breezes
Giving the impression of a gale
Wooden dock bathed in the sun
And the fear inspiring dare
When the courage is almost gathered
An embarrassing faux pas
Gasp, choke, splutter
Flailing to get out of the liquid iceberg
And up to the laughter of the on lookers
Evergreens turn to broadleaves
A great river gorge gives way
To sagebrush and cattle ranches
Without warning, the cornfields appear all around
Going on for miles
At long last
The mountains are reached
Immense wildlife and intense beauty
The land of restless earth
Of geysers and mud pots
The full spectrum of colors
In a pool so hot, you would have thought it cold
The steady rhythm of hooves rocking
A form of transportation as familiar as walking
A surprisingly short steed
For a girl of her height
They have known each other too long
To part
The oldest and best of friends
The kind that never judge
And know the need
To fly
Tearing up the earth underneath them
And dodge under and around blackberries
Familiar with each other’s movements
Intuiting what to do next
Correctly
She knows her twin better than just about anyone
A million inside jokes
No one else could ever guess the meaning
Though used to being called by the name of her twin
It never stops becoming irritated when it happens
They don’t even look that much alike
Even those they have known them for years
Still fall for it
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Versatile Blogger Award
Thanks so much Nikki, for giving me the Versatile Blogger Award!
And to those I pass this award to, congrats.
So, here's the drill, award winners:
a) Thank and link back to the person who gave you this award.
b) Share 7 things about yourself
c) Pass the award along to 15 bloggers who you have recently discovered and who you think are fantastic. ( I know that I didn't send this to 15 people, but I really don't know that many people in the blogger community yet, so, I apologize Versatile Blogger Award!)
d) Contact the bloggers you've picked and let them know about the award.
Seven Things About Myself:
1. I want to make my money writing novels
2. I have never been to New York City (though I hope to change that soon)
3. I have licked a slug
4. I preferred brussel sprouts to ice cream when I was younger (but no longer)
5. I am allergic to gluten
6. I am kind of a geek about movie scores, you will find more of them on my ipod then you will popular music
7. My favorite musical is Wicked
Here are my winners!
Cafe of Answers
Rose of the Desert
The Game
Silver's Reviews
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Harvest Moon
Happy last day of summer! More like unhappy last day of summer I know, but this last night of the season is something spectacular, so it can not be all that bad. Tonight is the harvest moon, and it has been a while since I posted, so I figured that I would write a poem about it.
Harvest Moon
The brilliant red maple leaf carried on a wind born of mountain's breath signals her coming.
As does the departing geese's honking, and the frantic chittering of gathering squirrels.
She is greeted by the outstretched arms of the scarecrow, and the ever flitting bats, with their leathery wings that were cut out of the night itself.
Lighting the work of the midnight reaper, casting the cornfields in a silvery glow.
The still air is pierced, the keening of the coyote, his temptress more radiant that ever.
He and his kin, distracted in their hunt, bay in their longing.
The lady of the night, laying in her bed of black velvet and diamonds; mystifying in her secretive splendor, wraps herself in a flowing gown of clouds, with the silver lining embroidering the collar.
Her fingers of mist run threw the patchwork of cornfields, and of pumpkin patches, and open pasture.
Finding the howling pack of broken hearts, stroking their wiry fur, enfolding them in serenity.
causing a hush to ring across the land
Harvest Moon
The brilliant red maple leaf carried on a wind born of mountain's breath signals her coming.
As does the departing geese's honking, and the frantic chittering of gathering squirrels.
She is greeted by the outstretched arms of the scarecrow, and the ever flitting bats, with their leathery wings that were cut out of the night itself.
Lighting the work of the midnight reaper, casting the cornfields in a silvery glow.
The still air is pierced, the keening of the coyote, his temptress more radiant that ever.
He and his kin, distracted in their hunt, bay in their longing.
The lady of the night, laying in her bed of black velvet and diamonds; mystifying in her secretive splendor, wraps herself in a flowing gown of clouds, with the silver lining embroidering the collar.
Her fingers of mist run threw the patchwork of cornfields, and of pumpkin patches, and open pasture.
Finding the howling pack of broken hearts, stroking their wiry fur, enfolding them in serenity.
causing a hush to ring across the land
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Final Chapter
As a school project, my novella was required to have around ten journal entries from the characters of the story. So in this chapter, I chose to right most of it in journal entry, instead of spreading them out through all of the different chapters. Also, if the story seemed a bit rushed to you, that was because the novella was required to span for a decade or so, from antebellun to postbellum, and fitting ten years into thirty pages or so is not a simple task.
Chapter Four
Molly had been shaken up after Gettysburg, not that her fellow soldiers were in a much better position. They had lost many men, and many more of them seriously wounded. Molly longed to hear from Sam, and longed even more that she could see him again.
The weeks dragged on and on at an outrageously slow pace, almost as someone were slowing time down just for Molly’s personal inconvenience.
One day, some three months after Gettysburg, Molly was marching through a confederate orchard, the soldiers were grabbing the fruit off of the trees. They were mostly apples, once the soldiers had eaten the fruit, they chucked the cores at crows for their own amusement. Molly could not help but think how this orchard looked very much to the one on her father’s plantation, the one where Sam had broken his leg. Then, a thought came to her, is my father’s plantation being trashed like this? Is my southern family taking refuge with relatives in Richmond like so many other families? When Father had talked of war on the plantation, such a long time ago, he had compared it to a game of chess. With certain rules and whatnot that you did not break. Total war is nothing like a game of chess, I wonder where he got that silly idea.
It was now the year of 1864, the fourth year of the war, and the country had taken on the grim air of the miserable people who were living in it. If there was anything both the Confederation and the Union could agree on, it was that they wanted this macabre horrendous was to be over.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
October 1, 1864
Boston, Massachusetts
It has been almost a year since Molly signed up for the army, and I have barely heard from her. Every time there is a battle, I find myself sprinting off to the nearest newsstand to find out if ‘Roger Douglas’ is among the living. Luckily, so far she has always been on that list. Still, this war has been very rough on me -on everyone- in one year I have seemed to age twenty. Despite the good news with W.T. Sherman, it seems the only reason that I keep hope or faith in this war is that it has given the prospect that slavery might be abolished. If the Union falls, all my work as an abolitionist for the past ten years will be all for naught. We, as people, must not let the Union fall, because, what the other side stands for is just to atrocious to think of as human behaviour.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
October 1, 1864
Outside Black Stone, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
I am writing this entry today to put down a rather shocking occurrence that happened earlier this week, since I have not had time to write lately. My regiment was setting up camp, when another regiment came marching along. They had no intentions of staying, for they had orders to go elsewhere, but they came to give us some prisoners of war. Whom they would have had a hard time containing if they had not transferred them. I was appointed as one of the guards. One of the prisoners looked exceedingly familiar, ‘what is your name?’ I asked him, he replied, ‘John Douglas’, my little stepbrother! I nearly collapsed from shock then and there, I had not seen John in over ten years! He had grown up so much, but under the thick mustache and scruffy beard, sure enough, it was him. He was very gruff and unfriendly- I suppose that I would be too if I were a prisoner of war- but still, he is so different from that boy who was always smiling from ear to ear. Of course, he did not recognize me.
On to some better news now, today while we were marching, we came across some torn up railroad all mangled into things that we call Sherman’s hairpins and Jeff Davis Neckties. They were hung on every tree nearby, and we knew that General Sherman had been there. With all of the damage that he has been doing, I would not be surprised if the war was over by the end of this year.
Apparently, Tristen has a love for Shakespeare. I never knew that, and when I told him that I did as well, he was quite shocked. obviously most soldiers are not the literary type. He began to recite sonnet 19, when I joined in, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was great fun!
The journal of Samuel Douglas
November 15, 1864
Boston, Massachusetts
President Lincoln has been reelected, thank goodness! Not that Gen. McClellan would have made a horrible commander in chief, but Lincoln has a good head on those broad shoulders of his. I trust him to get us out of this mess of a war, Diana agrees with me on this.
I received a letter from Molly today! She says that she is alive and very thankful for her health; it appears that her friend, Tristen O’Reilly, has caught some form of influenza. But he was doing well, the letter was dated October 27, so I should suspect that he has recovered by now. I have been so worried about my sister lately, but I will be able to rest easier tonight having read this letter.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger Douglas
November 15, 1864
North of Danville, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Some sort of madness has crossed over me, it may have had something to do with some of the whiskey that Tristen offered me that he has been using to ‘sooth his throat’ after that nasty sickness he has had. That has to be the lamest excuse to consume alcohol I think that I have ever heard- it would be pathetic even if he had not been well for over two weeks. Anyway, my madness that I was referring to is that I was getting half-a-mind to reveal my identity to John. I do not know why. I guess it just pains me to keep my own stepbrother prisoner, but if I did tell him all he would do is go around telling anybody and everybody he sees that I was not who I appeared to be. He always was a blabbermouth.
Word has reached our regiment that Abraham Lincoln has been reelected as president. I am quite excited about this; I would have voted for him if I had the right to vote. Many of my fellow soldiers were McClellan supporters and I heard more than one of them call the president a ‘Lincolnpoop’. Lincoln is the farthest thing from a nincompoop though, so it puzzles me why they would say such a thing.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 2, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Today, as I was walking down the street to buy a sandwich from the delicatessen, there was a huge commotion in the in the city. The people seemed to be celebrating, I heard one call out ‘the Rebs have themselves beat now!’
When I reached the deli and asked the server if he could please tell me what in the blue blazes had everybody so excited, he replied, ‘didn’t you hear? We have taken Richmond!’ I was shocked! I had slept in, and so I went out for a late breakfast or an early dinner, and had not bothered to read the morning paper. It was astonishing, and when I had eaten, I went back outside to join in the celebrating! Everybody was in a good mood, a weight had been taken off of all of us. The idea that the war might actually be ending was almost inconceivable! After all of those battles where victory had been so close at hand, those opportunities that had fallen through our fingers, many people had begun to take on a pessimistic view of things. Today though, all the rain clouds over people’s heads evaporated when the bright news of Richmond’s taking came.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 2, 1865
Leesville Lake, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
John Douglas, prisoner of war was moved again today to a different regiment. I do not know whether or not I shall ever see him again, but as he was leaving, the strangest thing happened! His eyes glazed over as if deep in thought, and just as they were taking him away, he looked at me and some recognition ignited in his face. Just at that moment though, the soldier from the Maine regiment who was taking him moved him forward, that was the last I saw of him.
We were moving our prisoners because we were ordered to go directly to Richmond and could not keep some twenty prisoners in check all the while.
I had no time to be sad though, for the reason that we were ordered to Richmond was that it had been taken! We were sent over there to help keep control of the city and its population. Oh, it is just so astounding the a]capitol of the confederacy is taken! It makes me want to bring out a bottle of champagne and celebrate, for now we know that the war is coming to an end.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 9, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
There are no words that I can think of that properly describe the news that is spreading like a blazing inferno throughout the country: General Lee surrendered to General Grant at the Appomattox Court House! Everyone is ecstatic and celebrating the Union’s victory. The overwhelming sense of joy that the war has ended is simply ludicrous.
I can only imagine what a relief this must be for the soldiers, though Molly’s contract is not up for another two months, I am sure that they will be a much more relaxed two months then the type of hustling about and walking ten miles a day like she has been doing for such a long time.
When I write it like this it seems so odd, but I have not seen Molly in two years. I cannot wait until the next to wretched months are over. It will be unbelievably wonderful to see my sister again!
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 9, 1865
Richmond, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Lee surrendered to Grant today, the war has ended! Though, there is still a lot of work ahead of us. We have to all work together to help rebuild the South and all the houses and properties that were destroyed. I suspect that is what our army is going to be doing, seeing as there is no more fighting. All of the soldiers have to do something until their contracts expire. Unfortunately, Tristen’s contract is a month longer than mine. I will just have to meet up with him once his expires.
The war has ended, the war has ended. The fact is taking a long time to sink, it just seems to good to be true! And along with the closing of the war comes the closing of slavery! The ideal that Sam, Diana, and all of the abolitionists, myself included, have been trying to reach for such a long time is speeding towards us.
Oh, and that champagne I was talking about a week or so ago, well someone was able to get their hands on a bottle. Goodness knows how, it was quite a decent variety too, the man was generous enough to pour some in the waiting mess cups of the people around him. It brought back the aristocratic side of me, needless to say, I have not associated with that side of myself in a very long.
Anyway, I think I will turn in for tonight, it has been a busy day and I think I will be able to sleep with pleasant dreams, now that I know that this monstrosity of a war has finally ended for good.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 14, 1865
Washington D.C.
It is around 10:00 AM and I am here in Washington D.C., on a spontaneous trip that Diana insisted on taking to celebrate- among other things as well- the beginning of our courtship. It appears she has been waiting for me to ask her to court her for a while, because when I sent my letter explaining my intentions, her reply was not what I had expected it to be. Instead of ‘Oh Samuel, I would love to!’ Or even, ‘I do not want to jeopardize our friendship, so I respectfully decline.’ Her five word reply was, ‘well it is about time.’
I have never been to the District of Columbia before, and so far it has been quite an interesting place. Diana and I went to see the Capitol building and the White House yesterday after we arrived here by train. We are going to the theater tonight after supper, the play we will be watching is called Our American Cousin. Diana has seen it before and tells me that it is hilarious.
11:00 PM
I am horrified and completely enraged! Tonight, at the performance Abraham Lincoln was shot! I was sitting with Diana toward the back of the theater, and this man finds his way into the president’s booth and shoots him! After he pulled the trigger he said something, Diana and I were to far away to make it out, but we heard some people say that he said ‘The South is avenged!’ We heard others say that the assassin said ‘Sic semper tyrannis’, thus always to tyrants. The name of that evil man is John Wilkes Booth, or so the authorities say. I cannot think of a man fouler than a man who would dare murder such a glorious man as Abraham Lincoln!
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 15, 1865
Richmond, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Today, we were informed that the president died, he was shot at Ford’s theatre last night. There was no hope in his surviving. I am deeply distraught. Why did this have to happen, now of all times? Right when the war was ended and everyone was in high spirits. Just yesterday I was celebrating, and now I am mourning. It seems nothing good goes without some punishment or sacrifice.
Andrew Johnson will take Lincoln’s place as president. I do not think he will be nearly as good though, I mean, he was drunk at the second inaugural.
The assassin, and the rest of the conspirators will probably be sentenced to death once they are captured- and I can assume there is a large price on their heads. Still, deaths for a death, I am sure that there is a more poetic way to put this, but would it not just mean more bloodshed, after the war is supposed to be over? I am not saying that I am sorry for them, I think that they still deserve it, but the whole spectrum of killing and murdering, it just seems tiresome and frustrating after a time.
Despair is a curious thing, you try to talk yourself out of it, but you keep going in circles, and the question that keeps coming up is why. Why did it have to be Abraham Lincoln? He was one of the men who I looked up to and respected the most. Why now? why?
All of these are just rhetorical I guess, and I do not even know if it would help at all even if I did know the answers. I am too shocked to really know anything right now, so I guess i might as well turn in. I will feel better after some sleep, and a chance to further process the horrendous news that I have heard today.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
August 10, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Tristen is coming to visit tomorrow, Molly has been anticipating this meeting ever since she arrived home a little over a month. She is very excited for me to meet him, but is also nervous. She hasn’t told Tristen about her being a girl yet, and plans to tomorrow. I can only imagine what that is going to be like, ‘hello Tristen, good to see you again. There’s something I need to tell you, I am not actually a boy.’ Of course, I will be there to back her up, but from what Molly tells me, he is very open minded, so I am not overly worried.
I am going to a jeweller this afternoon, to purchase a ring for Diana, Molly has sworn not to tell Diana, she told me if Diana asks, Molly will tell her I am at the bar. She has not teased me as much about my proposing as I would have suspected. Though, it seems too good to be true, once I ask Diana to marry me, than she will probably tease me incessantly. Over the years I have learned to hold my own against my sister, and I do have many retorts that are full of wit up my sleeve, should I need them.
The diary of Molly Douglas
April 11, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Today, when Tristen came to visit, I was fairly blunt about telling him about how I am a girl and slipped into the army because I wanted to fight for my country anyway. Before I was done, I was resisting teh urge to succumb to a fit of laughter. The expression on his face kept becoming more and more hilarious as I continued to talk! When I stopped there was an awkward silence, then, he said, ‘so you weren’t suffering from a cold all of that time. It was just you keeping your voice low, and when you forgot to your voice would sound like a girl’s voice because you are a girl.’ ‘Yes,’ I was answered, barely able to keep my composure. ‘Oh,’ he replied. After some more conversation, the facts finally began to sink in. He did not seem to mind, in fact he took the news much better than I expected. In my heart of hearts, I thought he would walk out of the door and never look back, but he was much to startled to do anything of the kind.
Tristen tells me that he is going back down to the South in a few weeks to continue to help with Reconstruction out of the confines of the military. I was a bit upset to hear this because I had been hoping to be able for him to become acquainted with Molly, and not Roger. He has promised to right when he can though, so that is good. I wish him the best of luck on his endeavor, helping to repair the damage in the South. I feel more than a bit of remorse though, thinking of how I helped cause that destruction, but I believe that the United States will be a better place because of it.
Despite Molly’s effort to distract herself by counting the baby’s breath blooms in Diana’s bouquet, her feet ached from standing as the maid of honor. All the preparations had come down to this moment when her brother and Diana said ‘I do’. Molly remembered when she first met Diana, all those years ago, the way Sam had interacted, and was not at all surprised it had come to this. Though, she did wish that her brother could have waited until she had found someone herself, seeing as now he would have to right to call her a spinster. Well, not really, but he could if he was trying to be mean, and she preferred to have the upper hand on the names when it came to their fights. Which were really for her entertainment of seeing her brother become red in the face from frustration than anything else.
All of the guests flocked around the new couple, giving them their well-wishings, many of the women could do nothing but stare at Diana’s white wedding dress. So many people could not afford such a gown, but her parents had been wealthy to some degree, and had saved Diana’s mother’s dress for her to wear. Molly did have to agree it was exquisite, a neat row of shell buttons down the back, lace adorned the sleeves, collar, and hem. There were even pearls sewn onto the shoulders. The dress was not stark white, it was more of an eggshell, which contrasted very nicely with the color of the bride’s hair.
“Hello Roger.”
The familiar voice pulled Molly out of the reverie she had not even realized that she was in, “Tristen, I did not see you at the service!”
“Alas, the train that I took up from Richmond was delayed. I do apologize,” he said, turning to Sam and Diana who had come to greet the late arrival.
“That is quite all right Tristen,” replied Sam, “it is much better to have you arrive late than never at all.
“Well that is good to hear, I was worried that I would have to asked the priest for a penance.”
They all laughed, “oh, no Tristen, of course not,” Diana assured the man.
“How long is your presence gracing us Tristen?” inquired Samuel.
“Two weeks, I am in between employment at the moment, but I have enough saved for this holiday.”
“That is quite good news,” Sam said, “Diana are going to honeymoon at the Cape for a week, it will be good to know that my sister has some company while we are gone.”
“Yes, quite,” put in Diana, winking slyly at Molly, she had turned out to be even worse about teasing Molly about Tristen then Sam.
Molly could feel herself blushing and turned her head away from her seeing, siblings, in-law or not, were still siblings, and they knew more about how to embarrass or poke fun then one gave them credit for.
The rest of that day was a blur to Molly, the next thing she could remember clearly was falling onto her bed from the exhaustion of such a long day, a long several years really. It had seemed that there had been so much happening for so long, that Molly had never really had a chance to reflect on all the things that had happened to her in a relatively short amount of time. And now at last, she seemed to have the time to do that. She was about to blow out the candle by her bed, when she realized she was holding a crumpled up piece of paper in her hand. It was an address, she remembered now, a place where she and Tristen were to meet the following day. Molly had completely forgotten she had it. Placing the address on her bedside table beside her candle, she watched the candlelight dance across the waxy parchment for a while in a fatigued, detached sort of interest, then, blew out the candle, and let the dark velvety folds of sleep take her.
Chapter Four
Molly had been shaken up after Gettysburg, not that her fellow soldiers were in a much better position. They had lost many men, and many more of them seriously wounded. Molly longed to hear from Sam, and longed even more that she could see him again.
The weeks dragged on and on at an outrageously slow pace, almost as someone were slowing time down just for Molly’s personal inconvenience.
One day, some three months after Gettysburg, Molly was marching through a confederate orchard, the soldiers were grabbing the fruit off of the trees. They were mostly apples, once the soldiers had eaten the fruit, they chucked the cores at crows for their own amusement. Molly could not help but think how this orchard looked very much to the one on her father’s plantation, the one where Sam had broken his leg. Then, a thought came to her, is my father’s plantation being trashed like this? Is my southern family taking refuge with relatives in Richmond like so many other families? When Father had talked of war on the plantation, such a long time ago, he had compared it to a game of chess. With certain rules and whatnot that you did not break. Total war is nothing like a game of chess, I wonder where he got that silly idea.
It was now the year of 1864, the fourth year of the war, and the country had taken on the grim air of the miserable people who were living in it. If there was anything both the Confederation and the Union could agree on, it was that they wanted this macabre horrendous was to be over.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
October 1, 1864
Boston, Massachusetts
It has been almost a year since Molly signed up for the army, and I have barely heard from her. Every time there is a battle, I find myself sprinting off to the nearest newsstand to find out if ‘Roger Douglas’ is among the living. Luckily, so far she has always been on that list. Still, this war has been very rough on me -on everyone- in one year I have seemed to age twenty. Despite the good news with W.T. Sherman, it seems the only reason that I keep hope or faith in this war is that it has given the prospect that slavery might be abolished. If the Union falls, all my work as an abolitionist for the past ten years will be all for naught. We, as people, must not let the Union fall, because, what the other side stands for is just to atrocious to think of as human behaviour.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
October 1, 1864
Outside Black Stone, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
I am writing this entry today to put down a rather shocking occurrence that happened earlier this week, since I have not had time to write lately. My regiment was setting up camp, when another regiment came marching along. They had no intentions of staying, for they had orders to go elsewhere, but they came to give us some prisoners of war. Whom they would have had a hard time containing if they had not transferred them. I was appointed as one of the guards. One of the prisoners looked exceedingly familiar, ‘what is your name?’ I asked him, he replied, ‘John Douglas’, my little stepbrother! I nearly collapsed from shock then and there, I had not seen John in over ten years! He had grown up so much, but under the thick mustache and scruffy beard, sure enough, it was him. He was very gruff and unfriendly- I suppose that I would be too if I were a prisoner of war- but still, he is so different from that boy who was always smiling from ear to ear. Of course, he did not recognize me.
On to some better news now, today while we were marching, we came across some torn up railroad all mangled into things that we call Sherman’s hairpins and Jeff Davis Neckties. They were hung on every tree nearby, and we knew that General Sherman had been there. With all of the damage that he has been doing, I would not be surprised if the war was over by the end of this year.
Apparently, Tristen has a love for Shakespeare. I never knew that, and when I told him that I did as well, he was quite shocked. obviously most soldiers are not the literary type. He began to recite sonnet 19, when I joined in, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was great fun!
The journal of Samuel Douglas
November 15, 1864
Boston, Massachusetts
President Lincoln has been reelected, thank goodness! Not that Gen. McClellan would have made a horrible commander in chief, but Lincoln has a good head on those broad shoulders of his. I trust him to get us out of this mess of a war, Diana agrees with me on this.
I received a letter from Molly today! She says that she is alive and very thankful for her health; it appears that her friend, Tristen O’Reilly, has caught some form of influenza. But he was doing well, the letter was dated October 27, so I should suspect that he has recovered by now. I have been so worried about my sister lately, but I will be able to rest easier tonight having read this letter.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger Douglas
November 15, 1864
North of Danville, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Some sort of madness has crossed over me, it may have had something to do with some of the whiskey that Tristen offered me that he has been using to ‘sooth his throat’ after that nasty sickness he has had. That has to be the lamest excuse to consume alcohol I think that I have ever heard- it would be pathetic even if he had not been well for over two weeks. Anyway, my madness that I was referring to is that I was getting half-a-mind to reveal my identity to John. I do not know why. I guess it just pains me to keep my own stepbrother prisoner, but if I did tell him all he would do is go around telling anybody and everybody he sees that I was not who I appeared to be. He always was a blabbermouth.
Word has reached our regiment that Abraham Lincoln has been reelected as president. I am quite excited about this; I would have voted for him if I had the right to vote. Many of my fellow soldiers were McClellan supporters and I heard more than one of them call the president a ‘Lincolnpoop’. Lincoln is the farthest thing from a nincompoop though, so it puzzles me why they would say such a thing.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 2, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Today, as I was walking down the street to buy a sandwich from the delicatessen, there was a huge commotion in the in the city. The people seemed to be celebrating, I heard one call out ‘the Rebs have themselves beat now!’
When I reached the deli and asked the server if he could please tell me what in the blue blazes had everybody so excited, he replied, ‘didn’t you hear? We have taken Richmond!’ I was shocked! I had slept in, and so I went out for a late breakfast or an early dinner, and had not bothered to read the morning paper. It was astonishing, and when I had eaten, I went back outside to join in the celebrating! Everybody was in a good mood, a weight had been taken off of all of us. The idea that the war might actually be ending was almost inconceivable! After all of those battles where victory had been so close at hand, those opportunities that had fallen through our fingers, many people had begun to take on a pessimistic view of things. Today though, all the rain clouds over people’s heads evaporated when the bright news of Richmond’s taking came.
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 2, 1865
Leesville Lake, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
John Douglas, prisoner of war was moved again today to a different regiment. I do not know whether or not I shall ever see him again, but as he was leaving, the strangest thing happened! His eyes glazed over as if deep in thought, and just as they were taking him away, he looked at me and some recognition ignited in his face. Just at that moment though, the soldier from the Maine regiment who was taking him moved him forward, that was the last I saw of him.
We were moving our prisoners because we were ordered to go directly to Richmond and could not keep some twenty prisoners in check all the while.
I had no time to be sad though, for the reason that we were ordered to Richmond was that it had been taken! We were sent over there to help keep control of the city and its population. Oh, it is just so astounding the a]capitol of the confederacy is taken! It makes me want to bring out a bottle of champagne and celebrate, for now we know that the war is coming to an end.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 9, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
There are no words that I can think of that properly describe the news that is spreading like a blazing inferno throughout the country: General Lee surrendered to General Grant at the Appomattox Court House! Everyone is ecstatic and celebrating the Union’s victory. The overwhelming sense of joy that the war has ended is simply ludicrous.
I can only imagine what a relief this must be for the soldiers, though Molly’s contract is not up for another two months, I am sure that they will be a much more relaxed two months then the type of hustling about and walking ten miles a day like she has been doing for such a long time.
When I write it like this it seems so odd, but I have not seen Molly in two years. I cannot wait until the next to wretched months are over. It will be unbelievably wonderful to see my sister again!
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 9, 1865
Richmond, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Lee surrendered to Grant today, the war has ended! Though, there is still a lot of work ahead of us. We have to all work together to help rebuild the South and all the houses and properties that were destroyed. I suspect that is what our army is going to be doing, seeing as there is no more fighting. All of the soldiers have to do something until their contracts expire. Unfortunately, Tristen’s contract is a month longer than mine. I will just have to meet up with him once his expires.
The war has ended, the war has ended. The fact is taking a long time to sink, it just seems to good to be true! And along with the closing of the war comes the closing of slavery! The ideal that Sam, Diana, and all of the abolitionists, myself included, have been trying to reach for such a long time is speeding towards us.
Oh, and that champagne I was talking about a week or so ago, well someone was able to get their hands on a bottle. Goodness knows how, it was quite a decent variety too, the man was generous enough to pour some in the waiting mess cups of the people around him. It brought back the aristocratic side of me, needless to say, I have not associated with that side of myself in a very long.
Anyway, I think I will turn in for tonight, it has been a busy day and I think I will be able to sleep with pleasant dreams, now that I know that this monstrosity of a war has finally ended for good.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
April 14, 1865
Washington D.C.
It is around 10:00 AM and I am here in Washington D.C., on a spontaneous trip that Diana insisted on taking to celebrate- among other things as well- the beginning of our courtship. It appears she has been waiting for me to ask her to court her for a while, because when I sent my letter explaining my intentions, her reply was not what I had expected it to be. Instead of ‘Oh Samuel, I would love to!’ Or even, ‘I do not want to jeopardize our friendship, so I respectfully decline.’ Her five word reply was, ‘well it is about time.’
I have never been to the District of Columbia before, and so far it has been quite an interesting place. Diana and I went to see the Capitol building and the White House yesterday after we arrived here by train. We are going to the theater tonight after supper, the play we will be watching is called Our American Cousin. Diana has seen it before and tells me that it is hilarious.
11:00 PM
I am horrified and completely enraged! Tonight, at the performance Abraham Lincoln was shot! I was sitting with Diana toward the back of the theater, and this man finds his way into the president’s booth and shoots him! After he pulled the trigger he said something, Diana and I were to far away to make it out, but we heard some people say that he said ‘The South is avenged!’ We heard others say that the assassin said ‘Sic semper tyrannis’, thus always to tyrants. The name of that evil man is John Wilkes Booth, or so the authorities say. I cannot think of a man fouler than a man who would dare murder such a glorious man as Abraham Lincoln!
The diary of Molly ‘Roger’ Douglas
April 15, 1865
Richmond, Virginia
12th Massachusetts
Today, we were informed that the president died, he was shot at Ford’s theatre last night. There was no hope in his surviving. I am deeply distraught. Why did this have to happen, now of all times? Right when the war was ended and everyone was in high spirits. Just yesterday I was celebrating, and now I am mourning. It seems nothing good goes without some punishment or sacrifice.
Andrew Johnson will take Lincoln’s place as president. I do not think he will be nearly as good though, I mean, he was drunk at the second inaugural.
The assassin, and the rest of the conspirators will probably be sentenced to death once they are captured- and I can assume there is a large price on their heads. Still, deaths for a death, I am sure that there is a more poetic way to put this, but would it not just mean more bloodshed, after the war is supposed to be over? I am not saying that I am sorry for them, I think that they still deserve it, but the whole spectrum of killing and murdering, it just seems tiresome and frustrating after a time.
Despair is a curious thing, you try to talk yourself out of it, but you keep going in circles, and the question that keeps coming up is why. Why did it have to be Abraham Lincoln? He was one of the men who I looked up to and respected the most. Why now? why?
All of these are just rhetorical I guess, and I do not even know if it would help at all even if I did know the answers. I am too shocked to really know anything right now, so I guess i might as well turn in. I will feel better after some sleep, and a chance to further process the horrendous news that I have heard today.
The journal of Samuel Douglas
August 10, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Tristen is coming to visit tomorrow, Molly has been anticipating this meeting ever since she arrived home a little over a month. She is very excited for me to meet him, but is also nervous. She hasn’t told Tristen about her being a girl yet, and plans to tomorrow. I can only imagine what that is going to be like, ‘hello Tristen, good to see you again. There’s something I need to tell you, I am not actually a boy.’ Of course, I will be there to back her up, but from what Molly tells me, he is very open minded, so I am not overly worried.
I am going to a jeweller this afternoon, to purchase a ring for Diana, Molly has sworn not to tell Diana, she told me if Diana asks, Molly will tell her I am at the bar. She has not teased me as much about my proposing as I would have suspected. Though, it seems too good to be true, once I ask Diana to marry me, than she will probably tease me incessantly. Over the years I have learned to hold my own against my sister, and I do have many retorts that are full of wit up my sleeve, should I need them.
The diary of Molly Douglas
April 11, 1865
Boston, Massachusetts
Today, when Tristen came to visit, I was fairly blunt about telling him about how I am a girl and slipped into the army because I wanted to fight for my country anyway. Before I was done, I was resisting teh urge to succumb to a fit of laughter. The expression on his face kept becoming more and more hilarious as I continued to talk! When I stopped there was an awkward silence, then, he said, ‘so you weren’t suffering from a cold all of that time. It was just you keeping your voice low, and when you forgot to your voice would sound like a girl’s voice because you are a girl.’ ‘Yes,’ I was answered, barely able to keep my composure. ‘Oh,’ he replied. After some more conversation, the facts finally began to sink in. He did not seem to mind, in fact he took the news much better than I expected. In my heart of hearts, I thought he would walk out of the door and never look back, but he was much to startled to do anything of the kind.
Tristen tells me that he is going back down to the South in a few weeks to continue to help with Reconstruction out of the confines of the military. I was a bit upset to hear this because I had been hoping to be able for him to become acquainted with Molly, and not Roger. He has promised to right when he can though, so that is good. I wish him the best of luck on his endeavor, helping to repair the damage in the South. I feel more than a bit of remorse though, thinking of how I helped cause that destruction, but I believe that the United States will be a better place because of it.
Despite Molly’s effort to distract herself by counting the baby’s breath blooms in Diana’s bouquet, her feet ached from standing as the maid of honor. All the preparations had come down to this moment when her brother and Diana said ‘I do’. Molly remembered when she first met Diana, all those years ago, the way Sam had interacted, and was not at all surprised it had come to this. Though, she did wish that her brother could have waited until she had found someone herself, seeing as now he would have to right to call her a spinster. Well, not really, but he could if he was trying to be mean, and she preferred to have the upper hand on the names when it came to their fights. Which were really for her entertainment of seeing her brother become red in the face from frustration than anything else.
All of the guests flocked around the new couple, giving them their well-wishings, many of the women could do nothing but stare at Diana’s white wedding dress. So many people could not afford such a gown, but her parents had been wealthy to some degree, and had saved Diana’s mother’s dress for her to wear. Molly did have to agree it was exquisite, a neat row of shell buttons down the back, lace adorned the sleeves, collar, and hem. There were even pearls sewn onto the shoulders. The dress was not stark white, it was more of an eggshell, which contrasted very nicely with the color of the bride’s hair.
“Hello Roger.”
The familiar voice pulled Molly out of the reverie she had not even realized that she was in, “Tristen, I did not see you at the service!”
“Alas, the train that I took up from Richmond was delayed. I do apologize,” he said, turning to Sam and Diana who had come to greet the late arrival.
“That is quite all right Tristen,” replied Sam, “it is much better to have you arrive late than never at all.
“Well that is good to hear, I was worried that I would have to asked the priest for a penance.”
They all laughed, “oh, no Tristen, of course not,” Diana assured the man.
“How long is your presence gracing us Tristen?” inquired Samuel.
“Two weeks, I am in between employment at the moment, but I have enough saved for this holiday.”
“That is quite good news,” Sam said, “Diana are going to honeymoon at the Cape for a week, it will be good to know that my sister has some company while we are gone.”
“Yes, quite,” put in Diana, winking slyly at Molly, she had turned out to be even worse about teasing Molly about Tristen then Sam.
Molly could feel herself blushing and turned her head away from her seeing, siblings, in-law or not, were still siblings, and they knew more about how to embarrass or poke fun then one gave them credit for.
The rest of that day was a blur to Molly, the next thing she could remember clearly was falling onto her bed from the exhaustion of such a long day, a long several years really. It had seemed that there had been so much happening for so long, that Molly had never really had a chance to reflect on all the things that had happened to her in a relatively short amount of time. And now at last, she seemed to have the time to do that. She was about to blow out the candle by her bed, when she realized she was holding a crumpled up piece of paper in her hand. It was an address, she remembered now, a place where she and Tristen were to meet the following day. Molly had completely forgotten she had it. Placing the address on her bedside table beside her candle, she watched the candlelight dance across the waxy parchment for a while in a fatigued, detached sort of interest, then, blew out the candle, and let the dark velvety folds of sleep take her.
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