Random Writing (Come tear Termital a new hole!)

[Vinny]

Random random random random.

(Oh yeah, post your random proses here for people to criticise.)

How do you speel criticise???

[Beartalon]

I spell it with a ZED.
You spell it with a ZEE.
The Brits might spell it with an ESS.

[Mackay]

*spells "criticise" with an ESS*

*pronounces the letter Z as ZED*

That is all.

[Kd]

A Cracking Bit Of British Randomness by Kd

Although not in coloUr, and without flavoUr,
This writing I favoUr, to write it is an honoUr.

That is all.

[The Ktulu]

Seems no one else is making use of this thread. So I will. Here's a rough draft of something for you to criticize/criticise/kryidisice:

Working Title(subject to change): Pineapple

Chapter 1
Bob was lying on his death bed, his grandson Randall sitting by his side. Bob, who had survived the Nuclear Nebula, a battle alongside the Sinuhts with the Foocians, and dozens of other close calls, was dying of chicken pox. Chicken pox! Randall and the rest of Bob’s family–whoever was left alive in it, that is–were certain that the Nuclear Nebula had done something to Bob that caused his chicken pox to become something far worse than itching red spots.

Bob knew different. Most people only get the chicken pox once; the earlier, the better. Bob guessed that waiting seventy-eight years for his share really put the spots on thick.

In the last hours of his life, Bob seemed to know everything. He spoke without pause, seeming to know exactly how long he had left in this world and wanting to get as much out as he could. Randall obediently listened to his grandfather’s final words, waiting for the cliched deathbed wish that he has learned from movies and books would most certainly come.

There didn’t seem to be any last desire for Bob, however. By the time we meet up with Randall Donnen and his dying grandfather in a cold and lonely hospital room–Room 379, if you’re interested–Bob had spoken for two hours to Randall. He had spoken in four languages, only three of which Randall understood completely. He had spoken with different dialects, rates, and tones, as if half a dozen alternate personalities were just then showing themselves. He had been at times loud, at others quiet, and even barely audible. Some talk had been intelligent, the rest just mad. But Randall had listened to every word, and would continue to listen.

Now we joined Randall and the dying old man in Room 379, and the old man said to Randall, “Aye, ‘hose ‘ere da good days. Oh ‘ell, no’hin’ ye can do ‘bout it. U’less ye can fine da emeral’ key. Dat pineapple’s wort’less, though. Was’e o’ time, lookin’ fer dat t’ing. Aye. Blue, red, yellow, green, pink, brown, purple, orange, and ohhh, dat black one. Da evil black ‘un.

“Now about the Foocians, Randall. Stay away from them. It’s a surprise Kirvack and I got out of that thing alive, much less the surviving Sinuhts. Those Foocians, wow, they are a force to be reckoned with, I tell you.”

Bob talked about the Foocians for several minutes without ever detailing his encounters with them. Randall knew that Bob and his friend Kirvack, an alien, had somehow gone to war with the Foocians on the side of the Sinuhts. Other than knowing Bob and Kirvack survived, he knew nothing more. Not even the outcome of the battles.

After the Foocians Bob began to speak a strange tongue, a speech that sounded like it would tickle your mouth to speak it; but Randall had spoken it and knew that the words were quite comfortable to say. Pleasant, actually. This odd language was that of Bob’s old friend, Kirvack. Randall could speak and listen to some of it, but much of it he was still learning. Kirvack was of a life form that usually lived much longer than humans, but Bob outlived him by almost twenty years. Some things just die early. Especially if the Garphgälagans–the name for some seriously hardcore intergalactic mobsters–got a hold of you.

Much of what the old man said Randall had already heard at some other point in his life; but within the last minutes of Bob’s life, Randall heard something–new? No, new wasn’t the right word, but it was close. Strange, as well.

“Once something hidden is found, it’s no longer hidden, so that one is useless. But the clear one holds the power, yes. The power to save...or destroy.”

Bob’s chicken pox had even infected his scalp, removing most of his hair in the process. The one last bit, next to his left ear, the smallest of hair patches, fell out with Bob’s last words, coming from lips full of red hills and black valleys, the inside of his mouth even infested with the chicken pox: “Find it and protect it, my son.” Randall did not know of what his grandfather spoke, but somehow he knew that he must fulfill the wish.

Robert Donnen did not gasp for breath to finish his final words. He didn’t shake or grab onto Randall so that Randall could hear his faint whisper–he spoke clearly and easily, as we have seen. He simply died, and it was beautiful.



Two weeks had passed and Randall still had no idea what he was looking for. What? could! that? clear! one? be?! Clear what? Oh well, the answer would come in time if Rod willed it (for at some point in history, the Zrylians had discovered God’s name was really Rod; likewise, all people named Rod changed their name to God and all rods became gods).

Well, Rod willed it. Randall picked up his grandfather’s diary and turned it on to a random page (Bob Donnen’s diary was on a magazine-sized electronic tablet notebook; a hard copy diary would have included thousands of pages). On that very page was part of Bob’s accounts on his and Kirvack’s search for the Hidden Pineapple.

Excerpts from Bob’s diary (titled Don’t Panic, a tribute to a book series):

Well, we’ve come up on the Pineapple [Bob begins an entry]. For the seven years during which Kirvack and I have searched for the Pineapple, we called it the Hidden Pineapple, the name it has been known by for as long as it has been searched for. This legendary fruit held an aura of mysticism to all those who heard of its wonder. But the mysticism disappears once it no longer is what it was. The Pineapple, once Hidden, is Found. Kirvack kept the blasted thing, and who knows, maybe it’ll do him good someday.

believes the platypus to be the ultimate being [the top line of another page begins], which I find to be somehow both amusing and so right at the same time. But that doesn’t matter much right now. I’ve made an important discovery. Well, I’m sure others know, but I’ve recently found out about it for myself. It’s too bad that my dear friend Kirvack died so long ago. Gosh, it’s been eighteen years now. I had expected him to be writing the same about me at some point, but for those Garphgälagans. Well, that’s all been dealt with, I suppose.

What I’ve found–or rather hope to find–would very much interest that Wkurmillraean friend of mine. Yes, yes, it would. How I wish I had his help. When we found that blasted tropical fruit once known as the Hidden Pineapple, I was more of a company-keeper than anything. Kirvack would be better suited for this mission. Perhaps my grandson Randy could help. He’s trig. If only his mother could bear to let him go anytime soon. Randy has it in him, I know. I see it.

But I suppose I’ll be trying to find the Transparent Pineapple on my own. And yes, I did say “Transparent Pineapple.” The Hidden Pineapple was a hoax to divert attention away from the Transparent Pineapple. The Colored Pineapples are no secret. They contain some magical properties, but nothing terribly powerful. Most of them, as we all know, are privately owned by museums or protected by the Intergalactic Alliance.

None of these, nor even the combined of all, compares to the power of the Transparent Pineapple. This secret Pineapple holds great power both for creation and destruction alike. How exactly this power works and what it does, I only wish I knew. But knowing would probably mean having to actually use it, and I must not tempt myself. I must find it though. My dreams tell me it is in danger, and my dreams have been quite reliable for

Randall reread those last two paragraphs and turned off the journal. It occurred to him that it was odd, the way Bob’s prose was arranged in that entry. It was like that part of the movie where they explain everything. It was a bit strange, but Randall dismissed it quickly; the old man always was a bit strange.

The important thing: Randall now knew what he was looking for.

-----------------------------------------------

I have Chapter 2 written in rough draft form as well, but I think I'll just post this one for now.

------------------
Nineteen Ninety-nine



[This message has been edited by The Ktulu (edited 01-05-2004 04:53 PM).]

[The Ktulu]

Maybe if I post Chapter 2 people will see there's something new on the thread. Or maybe I'll post in in OT like everyone else.

Chapter 2

If you had traveled six degrees counter clockwise on the Milky Way Galaxy, you would have come to a solar system very much like the one you departed from: nine planets, separated between the fourth and fifth by a ring of asteroids, the four after being of mostly gases, and the third supporting life. The planetary alignments would even be synchronized in orbit around a sun relatively the same size and age.

If you had traveled six degrees counter clockwise on the Milky Way Galaxy to visit this system’s third planet, you would have come to a world called Aenturn.

If you had traveled six degrees counter clockwise on the Milky Way Galaxy to visit Aenturn and had come to forty-one point nine five six six degrees north and eighty-six point three nine eight seven degrees west, you would have come to a small town called Blue Springs. Here you might have found a fellow by the name of Chuck. Chuck Adams. Chuck would have been sleeping.

Chuck’s alarm clock was a strange one: the sound didn’t work on the actual alarm, so he hooked it up to a blender. The Frappe switch turns on when the alarm is set to go off. He must have decided this was cooler than just buying a new clock.

And did I mention that he filled the blender with spare nuts and bolts?

BUZZZZZZZZZZ KNKDNE TKDN NA KDN KDT TTTEK!

For the first few nights he used his blender clock, this was a very unpleasant way of waking up, as you could imagine. But now, after a year or so with the thing, Chuck was used to it. In fact, he has had to put some quarters and washers in the mix to make it louder.

Often, though, Chuck forgot to warn guests of what many of them would later call the Alarm Clock From Hell. Last night happened to be one of those nights. And Chuck was of the sort who was humble and giving, always letting guests sleep in his bed while he took the floor or the couch in the other room.

“Double-you Tee EFF?!” called out Jimmy Top. Jimmy was out of bed like he had heard a blender full of loose change going off. He saw the Hell Blender and went to turn it off, finding that the buttons on it were broke.

Something else about the Alarm Clock From Hell: just as the sound doesn’t work on the clock, the switches don’t work on the blender. Electrical impulses from the clock operate the blender.

Of course, Jimmy didn’t know that.

KDGGGGD! KKTKTCKNKLKLDDVC DTERTMDT!

The blender had been running for a good three minutes by the time Chuck got to the room.

“Hit the Snooze,” Chuck said, and Jimmy did so lightning fast.

“Geez, Chuck, didn’t it wake you up?”

“I was already up,” Chuck said. “I would’ve been here earlier, but I was in the pisser.”

“Why in all of glory didn’t you tell me about that contraption?” Jimmy asked.

Chuck looked apologetic to Jimmy for a few seconds. He opened his mouth slowly, paused, and then said, “I’m just used to it. Forget all about it, most of the time.”

Chuck was walking out of the bedroom door when Jimmy reminded him that something as strange as a nut-and-bolt blender alarm clock doesn’t go without questions.

“Why in all of glory would you make something like that?”

Chuck stopped in the threshold of the door and turned around, looking Jimmy in the eye. Then he looked at the floor, contemplating his answer. He had always expected to have a reasonable answer whenever this question would be asked, but as always, he either forgot it or didn’t have one. He looked back up at Jimmy and said, “I don’t know.”

Many times when movies are made and stories are written, extraterrestrial and supernatural creatures are given earthly forms, often influenced greatly by bugs. They have legs, heads, arms, eyes, mouths, antennae... We just can’t create completely unique creatures from our imagination. We can’t conceive an alternate life-form that doesn’t tie-in somehow with our own.

Not often are these creatures just like our own. Too many people, not all, aliens must be different from us. In some way, certainly. And if they aren’t different from us, their worlds must be.
This wasn’t the case in Aenturn. You wouldn’t find much different about Chuck’s world than our own world. Of course there are geological differences, but built upon the same land and water forms as in our own world. Their technology and lifestyles closely match our own as well.

There’s really only one major difference between our world and Chuck’s world, but we’ll get to that later.



Jimmy Top opened the passenger door of Chuck’s car. He made a quick check to see if any kitchen appliances were being mixed with machine shop accessories. His search turned up negative. This car was no different from his own, except for the fact that his own had been blue instead of black and was also a twisted heap of charred metal. Well, that made it black now....

Chuck did as Jimmy did, opening the driver’s side door and getting in his vehicle. He put his key into the ignition and started up the car.

Jim didn’t know where Chuck was taking him. Last night Jimmy had arrived at Chuck’s house in crisp clothes, as in burnt to a crisp, and he had told Chuck about almost getting blown up with his car.

“Then you’re lucky to be alive, as they say,” Chuck had said while searching for something Jimmy could wear after a shower. “Though you probably know that.”

Jimmy had been quite calm about it all; his car had been old and worthless, and he had known that, while he came close to death, he had managed to move away from it. Something small inside of him had told him that maybe he was moving toward it again, though, or would be soon. A small worry remained in his otherwise calm appearance.

“So where are we going?” he asked Chuck.

Chuck said, while backing out of the driveway, “We’re going over to the intra galactic airport over in Chenio.”

“And from there?”

Chuck was afraid for his friend. Not everyone is so lucky to be as far from their cars as Jimmy had been when he had used his remote car unlock, which triggered the explosion. In fact, that doesn’t happen to a lot of people.

They would have to get away. That was what was important. Get away first, find out what was wrong later. Chuck knew that perhaps in some situations, knowing what you’re running from can help, but he also knew that what victims did wrong in action thriller movies was to look behind them while being chased. He knew not to look back.

So now Jimmy asked his question.

“And from there?”

“Earth."

[Vinny]

Good start, Ktulu. It has a certain Douglas Adam feel to it, but not quite. Your tone is a bit more serious and heavy going. I didn't know it was suppose to be a humorous piece until I was a bit into it. I like some of your idea, chicken pox and blender alarm, but there are just too many *stops* in the story that it's hard to dwell into it. Meaning your story doesn't flow too well. It has too many distractions. The reason I haven't read this before is that I read the first paragraph or so, got bored, couldn't continue, and decided to come back again at a later time to "tackle" it for constructive criticism. Which I haven't until now.

Here're a few comments for your consideration:

The story has too much of a narration feel, which is bad. As my english teacher, and more recently StirrerRedux, said: show, don't tell. It helps the readers tremendously in pulling them into the story.

There are just too many new terms thrown at me just in the first two chapters that after I while, I felt really lost. I had to figure out this world the book is describing, and this ook tme out of the story. Note that it is some time cool to have a story that is on a totally different universe with lots of weirdness and inventions and the reader has to figure out this new perspective, but a good author usually ease the reader into it.

Note "Hitchhiker Guide to the Galaxy" for example. That world is weird. But Adam doesn't start off with all these weirdness, he started with a simple man in a house, with a humorous mundane situation. And when he brings out the really wacky stuff, he brings them in a few at a time, and work with them to elaborate. The terms and ideas you have in the first two chapters seem like you just threw them in for kicks. A few you did right. Nuclear Nebula is good, I like that. I see almost instantly that the story is in a future, and that was a past battle. Like veterans speaking of the Vietnam War. Chicken Pox is also good. I can relate to that. But the rest made my head reeled and caused me to stand at a distant from the story.

"Bob knew different" -> "Bob knew differently"

quote:

---

There didn’t seem to be any last desire for Bob, however. By the time we meet up with Randall Donnen and his dying grandfather in a cold and lonely hospital room–Room 379, if you’re interested–Bob had spoken for two hours to Randall...Now we joined Randall ...

---

Too many naration here. And the way you spoke directly to the reader was also a flow stopping thing. Some people do it right, but the way you did it doesn't work. Has too much of storyteller feel to it. Storyteller feel = bad.

Why was the grandfather speaking in different languages? Is he rambling? Why did you put this in? What was it suppose to illustrate?

Foocians? Kirvacks? Sinuhts? Too many unknown here for me to remember. At least put in a few memorable characteristics to each group (race/species/entities?) so we have a vague idea of what they are. You can fill in the details later on in the story. Like you did for Garphgälagans–the name for some seriously hardcore intergalactic mobsters. I remembered that right a way. Garphs are intergalatic mafia. And I like the idea too!

A search for a pineapple totally turned me off. I can tell it is suppose to be humorous, but it is not funny. When I got to it, I was like "what?".

[The Ktulu]

Hey thanks. I never realized some of those things you said until just now.

[Huey]

I haven't had a chance to read this, but fear not! I will! A story about Chuck I gotta read. =]

[Huey]

Kt, that was an enjoyable read. Your writing is borderline professional and easy to get into, better than a lot of fan fics I've read recently anyways. There were a few nicely written paragraphs, but at parts it doesn't flow quite as smooth. Good writing so far tho', an interesting plot. Seems like you're creative and have some imaginative plots coming up. Your story need some work, don't hate me. I'm critizing from a reader's point of view.


My comments:

[Mackay]

I personally liked all the new random terms. My favourite books are the ones where you don't understand half the stuff that's going on at first, and then gradually get used to it as the book goes on. It also makes for better reading the second time round, because you understand everything this time, so you see it in an entirely different light.

You already know that the story had me laughing, Kt, and you probably think I'm biased, or too worried about being nice to say anything bad. But really, I've really enjoyed what I've read so far. I haven't read it again within this thread though, I'll look at it in a critical light in a while, probably.

As for the "He simply died, and it was beautiful", that was my favourite part of the story so far. I personally wouldn't change it. Don't listen to those crazy twins. I think Vinny's cutting it down just makes it seem a little too abupt, Huey's takes away from the simplicity of it, which is imo part of the beauty of that phrase. It leaves a lot to the imagination, while making sure the reader knows that the experience was a peaceful one.

[The Ktulu]

Hmmm, criticism went from strong to moderate to light. And Mackay, you are biased. You liked the stories because I let you read them first (She's read Chapter 3 as well; but I won't release that until I fix the first two chapters. I do have to agree with Vinny that it's quite...terrible. I wrote Chapter 1 while bored in World History class when the teacher was done lecturing. It's half ad-libbed. Though I do take credit for the suxorness of it.)

I say thankya big-big for all the criticisms. Thankee-sais.

[Bicho the Inhaler]

Originally posted by Mackay:

---

As for the "He simply died, and it was beautiful", that was my favourite part of the story so far.

---

I agree; I don't think that should be changed.

[Vinny]

To me it seems out of context.

What was beautiful about it?

Or did you mean it was beautiful that he simply died? Maybe I misread that.

[This message has been edited by Vinny (edited 01-16-2004 07:50 PM).]

[The Ktulu]

It was supposed to be that there was none of that cliched gasping for breath, pleading for more time, etc. And what Mackay said about it being peaceful. I think I'll take a bit of everyone's advice and alter that just a tad. Like make an analogy of some sort that indicates a peaceful, harmonious transition from one stage to the next. Or I might just leave it as is. I guess it all depends. undergarments!

[Huey]

Your writing is not terrible in the slightest, it's quite good. What gives you the silly notion that we didn't like it? I liked it alright, just needed tweaking.

[Mackay]

Minor grammar and language nitpicks for chapter 1.

[The Ktulu]

Ah, yes, thank you for the mechanical technicalities. But I am aware of the usage of different pronouns, such as in to and into. I know the usage of upon, but remember, Robert Donnen wrote that sentence. Not me. If I had been the one writing that sentence into the e-notebook, I probably wouldn't have split that word. But Donnen wrote it. I don't know if he simply didn't know the difference between up on and upon, or if a typo was the sole culprit. I never got a chance to ask him before his death.

[Mackay]

[The Ktulu]

I mean, yeah, because I only knew him for a few days. And by the time I saw his journal, he was already dead, so...

[Chuck]

How to Manufacture a Best Seller

[Termital]

Oooh, I can't let Ktulu hog all the limelight (and free ventilation ) . So here we go.



The phone was ringing for half a minute before I gave up sleep and stumbled to the receiver. No policeman or nurse would start by apologising for the lateness of the hour. As I was hanging up however, I picked up "assistant to Mr. Gronholm".
"William Gronholm?" It wasn't every night that opportunities showed up, and they usually prefered me decent and sober.
"Yes sir" The voice at the other end was thin and somewhat nasal. "Mr. Gronholm would like to see you at the international airport. Could you make it within the hour?"
The situation felt like a prank, but the background noise did suggest an airport and I wasn't likely to go back to sleep anyhow. "Sure thing."
"I'll wait for you then." Perhaps I should've asked for a few more minutes.

I turned on the bathroom light, took a piss, gargled some mouthwash and splashed cold water on my face. What the hell could Gronholm want with me? I opened the door of the second bedroom. Empty -as usual. Shuffling through my closet, and a few chairs, I pieced together one suit that wasn't too dirty or wrinkled. What urgent need could I meet that his usual firm couldn't? A bit light for the season, but it'd have to do.

On my way to the door I heard the fumbling of keys - I'd take Dave along after all. I was still annoyed by yesterday's blunder to care about possibly dragging him to the airport for nothing. He wasn't happy, but didn't object. He was even satisfied with "learning experience" as a reason. There was no time to turn around for umbrellas, much less for him to change into dry clothes. I'd drive.


Airports are always busy and cacophonous, and it was a pleasant change this time. That wasn't helping locate anyone however, and I was beginning to feel stupid for not asking for better directions, but then my son pointed out a man in a power suit. He was holding a very indiscreet card with our name on it. He quickly noticed our approach and met us halfway.
"Mr. Backhon?" It was the voice on the phone. I tried not to look startled realising it belonged to a man.
"Yes."
"Who would that be?"
"My assistant" Dave wasn't dressed anything like the part, but he let that slide.
"Follow me into the first class lounge please." He sounded somewhat annoyed. I'd be annoyed after an hour of people informing me arrivals came from the opposite direction. He walked very briskly for a man of his stature. Either that or my years had begun to show.

The first class lounge displayed the usual airport fetish for brushed metal and large glass plates, only with actual wooden surfaces, cushioned chairs and real plants. It was somewhat disappointing - not that I was fed up with first class luxuries, but my appointment could certainly afford to avoid public transport. The assistant (I realised I didn't know his name) tried to park Dave on a bar along the way, and I belatedly nodded approval. My attention was focused on the balding man behind a laptop. Sitting in a cedar green turtleneck at the end of the hall were a hundred million dollars.
^{to be continued}
_________________
_{Better ways to push & pull!}

[Mackay]

Very interesting. I mean... I don't know the word I'm after, but it's got me interested straight away. It's very mysterious, the way you've left it up to the reader's imagination to work out what the guy is up to. The beginning is very strong. Straight away we're into the action and interested to know what's going on. The language is very blunt, which works remarkably well in this style of story. it's intriguing and mysterious, and I can't wait for the next instalment.

Now, the part that's always the most fun...
Nitpicks (very small ones):

[winterHLepsilon]

Hiya all. This thread is surely interesting. After reading The Ktulu's and Termital's works, I think that I'd like to share with you a story of my own.

================

The Linked Hearts

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
‘Cause I know I don’t belong
Here in heaven

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I’ll find my way through night and day
‘Cause I know I just can’t stay
Here in heaven

Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart
Leave you begging please
Begging please

Beyond the door
There’s peace I’m sure
And there’ll be no more
Tears in heaven

-------Tears in Heaven

Mandy lay awake in her bed, counting the ticks of the clock, staring blankly at the ceiling. Without Veronica’s company, she seemed to be empty and lost.
Veronica, where are you?
Mandy turned over. The gentle tapping of the rain echoed in her ears.
Veronica, how are you?
She got up, wrapped herself in her long black cloak and strolled slowly to the window. She pushed it open, without really meaning to do so.
Veronica, can you hear me?
Mandy gazed out over the dark shadows of the mountains. The soft mist hanging over the fields cast a sad somberness over everything. She buried her face in her hands.
Veronica …
Mandy stood very still, as the chill of the wind and the freshness of the rain brushed her face. Her hair was flying out behind her while she pondered in deep reminiscence …
She and Veronica (Verni) were attached ever since they were very young. Mandy was an orphan who was once poor and very sulky. At the orphanage, she was isolated and quiet, so nobody ever liked her. Since she had never felt love, she never showed care for others, until somebody came and changed her completely. It was Veronica, whose parents had been killed in a terrible accident. She was much older than Mandy, yet she was handicapped and sickly. The same accident had taken away both of her legs.
Mandy sat on the window-sill and stared down at the fields. With her head resting on a hand, she was brought back to her 8 year-old self 3 years ago.
‘Hello!’ A happy, warm voice sounded behind Mandy. ‘How are you?’
‘Hi.’ Mandy whipped around in astonishment and answered quite coldly. She avoided direct eye-contact.
‘I’m new here.’ The tall girl of about 14 smiled tenderly at her.
‘My name is Veronica Brusselli and I’m only just 14. What about you?’
‘Er … ’ Mandy squeezed out a very uncomfortable smile, contorting her face. She hated to talk. ‘I’m Amanda Serry. I’m 8. Er … ’
‘Nice to meet you!’ Before she could think of anything to talk about, the girl offered her a hand of friendship. Mandy was totally taken aback. Nobody had acted so friendly toward her since she got here. As she looked up, she saw a pair of pleasant blue eyes, curly gold hair and …
‘Wheelchair.’ Veronica sighed when Mandy gaped. ‘3 months ago, I was traveling with Dad and Mum in our new car. 1 minute ago, I was the happiest girl on earth, with everything nice; 1 minute later, I was the saddest, with everything lost.’ She said with shaking sadness in her voice. ‘I didn’t quite realize what had happened as I lay in a hospital bed in excruciating pain until they told me. My parents were dead when the truck knocked over the car, but I … I survived because … my … Mum protected me against all this … she died soon afterwards and … and I was discovered, unconscious and half-dead … in her arms …’ There was a painful pause. ‘Not just that. As if the tragic loss of my dearest ones was not enough, they had to take away my legs. It was the best they could do … I was lucky to stay alive … However, the deprivation of my freedom and my family was almost unbearable. I even wanted to … to simply die, without suffering all this throughout my life, without even more torture. I struggled very hard at first … I didn’t want to end up in loss and sorrow. Yet one day, I saw a badly mangled bird fly painfully up, trying to reach the blue sky despite its injuries … I suddenly woke up from the daze as I knew I have found the true meaning of life.’ Her eyes began to shine. ‘To live it to the fullest, to strive against all the difficulties, and to achieve a brighter future. It’s very tough, but you have to learn to be strong, to stand up against the hardest problems … I couldn’t surrender to fate and be wretched and down. Always … I have to fight against it …I’ll find my way through night and day. ’
Mandy listened in entire silence. It was such a precious lesson, a major change in her life. Veronica had told her about something to live up to, to follow … She looked up and immediately, something shocked her ------ the kindness of Veronica was like a ray of the spring sun shining warmly on frozen ice, melting her cold heart. From then on, she knew she had to fight, to struggle …
Mandy felt her tears streaming down her face. She thought of all those good old days.
Veronica, you won’t come back, will you?
She’s lost forever …
‘But nobody likes me. I get no love and I don’t want to give it! I resist! Why can’t I be loved and cared for?’ Mandy whined.
‘Be kind. Be good and helpful. The others would treat you in the way you treat them. Look at life in a more optimistic way and you’ll see hope, love, joy and sunshine everywhere, in spite of the fact that a haze of sorrow and pain overcast us.’ Veronica encouraged her. ‘Cheer up! Have a nice, pleasant smile! Right then, Mandy! A smiles will help you forget those sad, dreary days and walk out of the mist of loss and sorrow.’
‘Dad has died of a fatal heart disease even before I was born. Mum passed away soon after my birth, only just in time to name me … Amanda after grandma and Jane-Anne after the famous writers Jane Austen and Anne Bronte, her idols I was brought here, with nobody to love me.’
‘No, believe me, you’re made to be loved. And surely, you’re capable to love others.’ Veronica touched her face softly. ‘We might still feel the strong aura of love, even though the ones who have loved us so have gone. Love is always there, to accompany you when you’re lonely, to comfort you when you’re sad. You can feel it. It’s flowing in your own body … seeping from your own veins.’
Mandy stood there, stunned. Slowly, she was guided out of this dark, enclosed world.
Mandy sighed and leant forward. The rain had reduced to a light drizzle …
From then on, Mandy had changed. She began to talk and smile more frequently. Soon, she made many friends and every one enjoyed her company. Joyous laughter echoed around her as she became more and more optimistic. As always, Verni was her best friend, her ideal counselor and her truest company. They could be seen talking and joking all over the place.
Later on, Verni gave Mandy a lovely jewel bracelet as a token of love and friendship.
‘As you see, it was given to me by Mum, as her symbol of her affection towards me. And now, I’ll pass it on to you, as my token of fondness for you.’ Veronica smiled. ‘Put it on … and whenever you feel it, think of me, your best friend.’
Mandy took this precious gift in her hands. Didn’t she feel the pounding of two hearts inside the jewel? For the first time, she could feel them, linked by a special bond, surpassing the bounds of friendship. No, they were more than just good friends. It was a deeper, stronger feeling so intense that they were two as one. A feeling that she would cherish all her life.
Mandy held the jewel close. She looked up at Verni’s smiling face. ‘Sister?’
Verni lowered her head. ‘Yes, Mandy. Sister.’
However, this happy time didn’t last long. It came to a sudden halt 6 months ago, when Verni suddenly became very ill. She had great trouble breathing. After some time, she was so weak that she had to be taken to a hospital. Then, sad news came. Veronica’s many years of sickness had trigged the most horrible kind of disease: cancer. Mandy and all the others were greatly shocked, especially when they learned that her days were limited. Her death would come very soon because of her weakness and there was barely any hope of significant recovery.
During those terrible days, Mandy was almost always silent. Her inner struggles were painful, as she fought fiercely with her bursting feelings. She was nearly her old self again, pessimistic, surly and lonely. She strained herself, though, by repeating quietly, ‘Even during the hardest times, you have to be strong to stand up against the storm.’ It was Verni’s famous quote.
The effort to hold herself almost broke her down. Every night, she’d cry quietly in her dreams and wake up with a jolt, discovering the pillow soaked with tears. ‘Hold on … hold on.’ She’d whisper in a choked voice. ‘Hold on.’
Not long ago, Verni was transmitted to the best hospital in the district. The teachers donated money for the expenses and the children made hundreds of paper toys, wishing her good luck.
Two days ago, all the children and the teachers visited Verni’s sick room to greet her. Because of their lasting and moving friendship, Mandy was permitted to stay there alone to accompany Veronica for a longer period.
All the others retreated, leaving the two girls together. Mandy stared into Verni’s pale, thin face sadly and mourned. How weak and ill she looked! All her previous energy and beauty had been drained and there she lay, white and skinny, like a living skeleton, with a mane of ruffled hair strewn loosely across her grayish-white face. The pale skin was stretched across the bones.
Mandy caught up Verni’s bony weak hand and sobbed, her head resting on Verni’s side. The hand made a weak snatch and drooped to one side.
‘Oh, Verni, Verni … ’ Mandy wailed, ‘Poor you!’
Then, something like a miracle happened. Verni lifted her head a little, her eyes narrowly open, but quickly, she fell heavily on to the bed again. Her lips quivered, yet no audible words came out. However, as if the voice was inside her, Mandy could hear the faint whisper. ‘Mandy, at last, you’re here … the last time … You bring … fresh … hope to … me …’
Mandy pressed Verni’s hand onto her face as large drops of tears slid down her cheeks silently.
Listen with your heart, and you’ll know.
Listen with my heart, Mandy thought. She put Verni’s hand to her heart. We’ll always be together, and death could do nothing to separate us. Our souls, our hearts will always be together … Hers linked to mine, and mine connected to hers. She could almost feel Verni’s gentle, slow beating heart.
‘I’ll always be with you … I’ll listen to your sorrow, cheer for your joy, Verni …’ Mandy whispered.
‘Yes, my dear Mandy … ’
‘Don’t leave me, don’t … ’
‘Maybe we’ll meet again only in Heaven … ’ Verni sighed. ‘Maybe … ’
‘No! Cheer up!’ Mandy said sharply. Verni’s head lolled from side to side. Mandy’s tears rolled down her face. ‘We’ll be together soon, you’ll see. And I’ll … I’ll lead you around our new garden and orchard, it’s so beautiful … Yes, I’ll pick you the tulips, the juicy berries and the roses. You’ll love their fragrance and color … You love tulips … Oh, we can … we can … make it … Cheer up! We may play on the prairie with Tiffie … I’ll help you down the fields … And yes, Ross is much grown up now, a great fellow … He’ll push you across the fields and lick your hands lovingly and give you lots of sweet blueberries … You like them very much … Fina Squeech still squeaks an awful deal but she can put up a very interesting show of nut-cracking … I’ll show you around the modern library … Don’t you like reading!’ Mandy was indulged in fanciful dreams of a bright, pleasant future.
Thus, they talked and laughed. Mandy told Verni all about the new facilities and the ‘kicking the chair’ game they loved. They told stories and enjoyed themselves. When it was time to go, Mandy pinned a small spray of wild flowers ------ briars, azaleas, tulips, heathers ------ to Verni’s laped. She kissed Verni on the cheek, patted her arms and bid her goodbye. Mandy was gone with a tiny tingle of bells and the gentle click of the door. Her clinking footsteps disappeared out of earshot soon.
Mandy couldn’t even imagine that the goodbye would be farewell forever.
Yesterday, while Mandy was dressing herself, the pale, cold rays of dawn peeked into her small cubicle. She padded to the window and pushed it open. Through the pink curtains, the sun glittered darkly, its faint light brightening her face, but not her heart.
‘I hope everything’s all right.’ She said in a shivering tone. ‘Alas, the sun must be indicating some terrible misfortune. The sun looks so dreary and gloomy!’ She fell down to her knees and prayed sincerely with her fingers crossed.
Everybody looked weary and shocked at breakfast.
Mandy slipped down beside Larry and took a plate, a knife and a fork. She poured some orangeade into her glass. Larry looked downright frightened.
Mandy helped herself to some sausages. Sipping from her glass, she uttered a ‘hello’ and asked anxiously ‘Hmm … Larry, what’s up?’
Larry plodded his fork down on the table. ‘Oh … Terrible thing … ’
‘What?’ Her fork was only halfway to he mouth, with a pork-pie speared on one end.
‘Veronica Brusselli.’ Larry nibbled at a jacket potato.
‘She?’ Mandy spat out her orangeade.
‘Yes. You two were very attached, right?’ Larry gulped down his bacon, eyeing her nervously. He pretended to be casual and absent-minded.
‘Yes, but … what do you mean by “were” ? ’ Mandy’s pie was already cold. She stared at her porridge as if entranced by it. Meanwhile, her stomach was churning and lurching uncomfortably. The sun surely did tell her something.
‘Mmm … ’ Larry started to chop his toast. ‘Mmm … ’
‘She … she … she doesn’t … she can’t … is she? ’ Mandy looked alarmed.
‘Err … ’ Larry hesitated. He said, at last, in a small, low voice. ‘I’m afraid … yes. Sorry to … to say that … you must be … very … ’ He didn’t need to finish.
Mandy’s fork fell with a loud clutter. Everything was dissolving and spinning in a blur. It had happened. She had lost her dearest … forever. The world had lost its glamour and everything was cold and gloomy.
As they put the cold, motionless body of Verni into the small wood coffin, tears poured down Mandy’s face. Verni’s face was pale and calm, with a warm, sweet smile on her lips. Her beautiful eyes were closed forever. She had welcomed death with perfect peace.
‘Your heart will be with the great prairie you have so loved. And with me, too.’ Mandy whispered. ‘Me, too.’
Mandy kneeled down and prayed quietly. Bending forward, she placed a bunch of Verni’s favorite tulips, a photo of them together and the jewel bracelet by her side with quivering hands. Hot drops of tears moistened Verni’s still face when Mandy held her close, kissing her for the last time. She straightened up and watched the coffin lowered into the grave. The last sight of her. She’d lost her best friend and sister. She’d never hear Verni’s cheery, gentle voice again.
The drizzle dampened her face. Mandy paid tribute to the lost friend and left silently with the others. Time seemed to have stopped forever.
She didn’t want to disturb Verni.
The soft ‘tap, tap’ of the rain brought her back to reality. Mandy stared at the sky. ‘I must be strong and carry on, Verni.’ She uttered. ‘Sleep well, dear. You know my heart will always be with you!’
6 years passed. One day, Mandy, already grown and ripened, was strolling across the great prairie. The sweet scent of tulips was hovering in the wet, cool air. 6 years have gone by since Verni was buried. 6 long years.
Mandy stopped to scoop up a bunch of bright, sweet tulips and pressed them to her heart. Verni’s favorite flowers.
At the lonely small tomb, Mandy crouched down and prayed. Tears were welling up in her eyes again. 6 long years still couldn’t let her memories fade away and time couldn’t ease her pain and sorrow.
Mandy looked at the simple script on the tombstone, with Verni’s name, date of birth and date of death carved. They have almost been wiped out by the wild weather of the prairie. And Verni was always resting there, on the prairie. Now she was smiling up at Mandy from the old picture. It was the same smile that had moved Mandy’s heart so many times before. Weeping, Mandy put the tulips, the fresh tulips, in front of the grass-covered grave.
‘Ah, Verni, dear sister! We’re together once more.’ Mandy muttered. ‘You’re a long way from me … yet can’t the tulips link our hearts, our souls? Look, the fresh beads on the leaves! They represent our eternal … love and friendship … We’ll always be linked, won’t we?’
The pounding of the two linked hearts was all around her, crossing the limits of space and time. Yes, two hearts, pounding as one.
The wind howled and ruffled her hair. She stared up into the sky. And there, under the shimmering sun, was the wild prairie. Veronica was here, by her side, as always.
_________________
*HL--^H^e^L^en *
=A girl from Guangzhou, China, Asia=

Ask, and it shall be given you;
Seek, and ye shall find;
Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.