The Old Woman

Reeeeaaaaally old writing!

10/31/11

The old woman bowed her head courteously and the young gentleman did the same. She turned, reaching thin, tired limbs out to the bulky coffee door. The young man came forward and held it open as she walked on through. In fact, he could have taken the door off its very hinges for the energy his heart beat within.

Two skips forward and he too was out the door and on the cold afternoon pavement. As he began his way to the job he was no longer willing to accept he felt one last urge to turn and wave to the woman. She too, was looking his way and gave one more warm hearted smile. Her bony hand came up and waved him off and his spirit swelled in his chest once again.

And the brakes of transit bus 105 began to screech as the old woman stepped out and onto the black wave of gravel road. The young sir stared at those calm, collected eyes as they were swept away and people let out cries of terror and surprise. He watched as the bus jerked to a standstill and the body rolled out from beneath. The blood was just as she’d described her favorite ruby chrysanthemums and he raced to her side instinctively.

As people gathered round, the bus driver went into a panic and calls were made to 911 the young man set his brown leather case down, took off his worn hat and cradled her paper hand as a grandchild would on his grandparent’s deathbed. Of course, she was already gone, but her calm and cool expression remained ever visible. He stared into her sea-blue eyes once more and cried.

Writing Exercise! Nonstop Freestyle!

So I gave myself a little writing exercise. The only rules? I can't stop writing and I can't go back and correct anything. It was pretty fun to see what my mind created.

Here are the results! And, mind you, this is just as I wrote it, freestyle and such, so please excuse the errors! XD

Paper to pen, pen to paper?

Emelio mulled the phrase over and again in his whispy blond head, attemptimng to lodge in himself some semblance of the teaches Master Yule had constantly pounded inot him. It was a tiring time for him, a boy whose passion was galloping away on his proud ebony horse “nightengale”. He often savored those sweet afternoon hours far from home and the dreary, suffocating castle.

But today he was stuck in the vice-like grip of Yule again and his professor was not going to let him out any time soon. In fact, the more Emelior stared at the clock the more he could notice each slight turn on the hand and how positively slow it moved. Why was time like that? Fast when one was having fun and yet soooo slow when one was in the midst of a moody professor?

“Finished your puzzle yet, Prince?” that high pitched man-voice spilled across Emelio's desk and all at once the young man stared up at the thin and gaudy sir before him.

Professor Yule was never one for the finer things in life. His clothes were stark black with a strange scarf of emearald adorned around him. He always kept himself completely straight and constantly reminded Emelio of some sort of board. The kind that never bent, but always seemed to break under pressure.

Of course, Emilio had yet to find that pressure point to break this teacher of his. Instead he let his eyes dart across the piece of parchment before him and shifted his shoulder sweekly. Professor Yule bent down and let a thin fineger scrape across the words, his beady eyes studying the contents curiously. Finally, with a hugff he looked back onto his student and sighed.

“There really is no use, is there? The bright young son of Lord Karver and yet I can't find any clever wit to be had in your homework. Nothing, but day dreaming about horses and sunbathing in the foothills of Mor. It's apparent to me that you will accend to the ranks fo court jester before you ever make it to “King”.

Emilio straightened himself and glowered at this teacher. Through gritted teeth he mocked a smile and a low bow, which nearly made his chin touch his desk.

“I'm so veeerrrryyy sorry your most aspiring Profeesssoor!” He excalaimed. “It would appear to me that my humble and weak mind paired with yours can only cause me to wither and stale. Perhaps I am far too much a fool to be your student. Perhaps you should explain this to my father, that he fathered an idtio who cannot be taught by this most cunning and demanding teacher. Perhaps then he will realize YOU are the crown prince and YOU deserve the throne more than I.”

Professor Yule sniffed carefully and something most peculior happened. He swept himself a bow far lower than that which Emilio had trained into. When he rose again there was something almost mischevious in those eyes of his. And when he spke his voice was strong and even.

“Oh, no no your majesty. A throne is never what I desire or deserve. I need only a student willing to learn and I will find myself at peace. You see, only such a modest and careful soul as I would dare to harbor a need to see Prince Emilio actually learning his studies instead of attempting to spoil his latest tutor.”

Emilio blaunched and went back to his lessons.

Awaiting The Fair Folk

Her feet made fine imprints in the soft clay. And with every step she took her fingers slid over the numerous cattails that lined the slough. They were soft, but resilient things. The pressure her honeyed palms applied did no more than bow their delicate heads to her whim. Then she retracted herself from their presence and peered over the water's edge.

"Do you think we'll see one of the Fair Folk?" Her melodic voice assaulted the air, as refreshing as the brisk morning breeze.

"I quite doubt it. Maybe a nymph in the water, but even that..." He couldn't lie to her, but he hated dashing her hopes.

It was because, whenever he did, she'd peer down on him with a lonely eye and a furrowed brow. Just as she did now. Pulling up her skirts until they were hiked just above her knees the lass hoisted herself up and onto the embankment where he sketched. Pencil in hand, he tried his best not to gaze on her pouting lips or those pools of deep blue that were her eyes.

If he did he'd never get his work done.

And yet as his lady curled up next to his side he could not help, but cast her a piteous glance. His own features sent out a fine, darkened example of melancholy. Something that almost challenged hers. Almost. She flexed her bare feet against the green grass until most of the mud had fallen off.

"I should think that, as we come here so often, the Fair Folk might give us honor of their presence...." She picked at some clay on her big toe.

"I don't think it works like that. They are quite busy after all and why in the world would they spend their time with some ninnies like us?" The realist of the two, as always. The brunette was likely a total opposite of the lady beside him.

"I am not a ninny." She snorted.

"Yes, we both are."

"Well, I'm not. You can be a ninny if you'd like, but I am certainly no such thing."

"Then tell me, oh wise woman of mine, what are we doing day in and day out next to this old river end?" He challenged, setting down his pad of paper.

"We're waiting for an audience." She promptly replied, setting her hands in her lap.

"An audience?"

"Yes."

"With the Fair Folk?"

"Indeed."

"And you say we are not ninnies..." He dropped onto his back and let the afternoon sun pound against his cheeks. In a single instant there was a force upon his chest and he turned to find her present, gazing sternly upon him.

"That is correct. We are not ninnies. And we will see the Fair Folk." She knocked on his head twice.

"Hah. And what makes you so sure...?" He mumbled, attempting to catch breath in his pressed lungs.

"I just..." She paused, sitting up off of him and turning to the water below. "I just am."