Revolution Section 2 Slicking back some stray blonde hairs, Jane examined her younger siblings. The twins, Grace and Millie, were only three years younger than her, fourteen, their birthday only a few days gone. They, too had their mother's wispy blonde hair, which was covered in flour on both girls. Their bodies were tall, thin, and willowy, just as Jane's had been at their age, though now she had filled into that frame with muscle. The only way to tell the two apart were their eyes. Millie's were a bright sky blue and Grace's eyes were a steel gray blue. It was a family secret, the way to tell them apart. The two delighted in mischief, as now when they were tossing flour and bits of dough at each other, giggling. Jane's eyes shifted to glum Sally, sitting on the stool. She had their father's sandy brown hair and green eyes. Her bright red nose spoke of her cold. Normally, it was Sally's job to get the cook fire going, but her frequent sneezes spread ash all over the stove and her dress. For the past two days James had had to get the fire going for her. But because Sally was only six, she was too small to carry water, normally James' job, or to reach and help her sisters with the baking, so she sat forlornly on her stool. James too had their father's looks, though at ten his broad shoulders failed to fit his slinder form. (written February 28, 2003) To Be Continued... posted by Cassandra 5:04 PM . . .
Revolution Section 1 Jane hefted the sloshing bucket, muttering under her breath. The sun was just coming over the horizon, coloring the tops of the trees red, orange, and yellow. Jane slapped her skirts away, lugging the heavy water bucket towards the ramshackle farmhouse. The gray planks of the house looked almost whole and well in the early morning light. The yard was small, barely big enough to hold the well, wagon, small barn, and chickens. The packed dirt held little for the six chickens to peck at, but they tried anyway. Jane frowned at them. There wasn't much grain to spare for the scrawny birds. There wasn't much for their one old cow, either. Their horse had been sold at the end of the summer. Times were hard on everyone, but it felt like she and her family had been hurt the worst. Her older two brothers had already been apprenticed to the town tanner, her older sister had been married for two years to a local smithy's son and already had a small son of her own. Jane's younger siblings, three younger sisters and one brother, were inside the house, preparing breakfast. Jane put the bucket down on the back stoop, next to the hand-carved wooden ladel. Knuckling the small of her back, she stepped into the small kitchen. The youngest child, Sally, sat forlornly on a tall stool, scrubbing her red nose. Grace and Millie were at the counter kneading dough for bread and bisckets. James was blowing on the fire inside the potbellied stove. (written February 26, 2003) To Be Continued... posted by Cassandra 4:58 PM . . .
As you can see, I've changed the 'mission statement' of this blog to include my stories, since I seem to have begun writing again. Strange how it's been happening, first that first poem that just came to me, then a short story that just came to me...and the need, the joy of writing, was rekindled. So, this next story you all get to see is going to be serialized. I don't know if it'll have an end, or a point, like so many other things in my life, but I'm writing it piecemeal (in class...shhhhh, don't tell). I think I can see a direction for it to go in...I just hope it doesn't turn into a monster like my last short story that got to 183 pages before it stopped. Yeah, I know, it's a novel. This one, I want to streach my writing muscles and delve into description...though not painfully detailed, I hope! Right, Cassie, get on with it! posted by Cassandra 4:50 PM . . .
Another break in tradition ( I like to think I have a tradition here ;-D ) Here's a short short story I wrote last night, spur of the moment, but very good, well okay...I'm biased. Enjoy The Future of a Global Citizen I want to write. A story. About a girl who looked around, and instead of being overwhelmed, she took a step forward, saying, "I'm going to change this. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to make it all better." (And then my daughter came up to me and said, "Mommy, what did you do in college?") About a girl, who looked around, and put her hands to her head and screamed at the insanity of it all. The suffering of every individual piercing her heart until there was nothing left. But there was still something there, something that cared, and something, that despite all the pain, found a path, found a way. The girl stepped forward, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, held her chin up, ignoring the tears, and said, "All right. I'll do it. I'll change it." ("I crocheted. Read lots of books, some good, some bad. Ate lots of food. Met people from all over the world. Learned some things, lost others.") About a girl, who looked around, sat down and cried. The corner was cold and wet, the rain hard and persistant. The people moving by didn't even realize the pain they were in, the pain they were causing, the pain of everyone else. She was soaking wet, a puddle of humanity, watching the river flow by. Slowly, she got to her feet, looked around again and sighed. No one else knew, no one else saw. She sniffed back the approaching cold, gazed at the tall buildings around her, and said, "They'll never know, but if I don't do something, nothing will ever happen. I have no choice. I will do it. I will change this." (She smiled and nodded, then grinned at me like the little mischief-maker she was, "But what about becoming a global citizen? I thought that was what your college was all about.") About a girl, who refused to look around, knowing what she'd see. Her eyes were pasted to the pavement, afraid of everything but her own shoes, though even those gave her shudders. The garbage floating by in the gutter was gut wrenching, the cars splashing dirty rain water, heart squeezing. The people were too far away, too close, too much more for her strained senses. But there was no where to run, no where to hide from mass of suffering surrounding her. Her heart broke into 12,000 tiny pieces, but she held it together with industrial strength duct tape. Finally, she looked up, trying to ignore the pain that tensed every muscle in her body. What could she do? She turned the corner, walked down the street, and said, "I don't know. I'm cold, wet, and afraid. But there are others out there with less, with more, and I can't leave things like this. I have to do something, but I feel like I don't have the strength to do it. I don't even know what I can do, what I should do. But, I can't leave it like this. I have to do something. I have to change it." (I smiled knowingly at her. Turning to a bookshelf, I take down a story I once wrote, about a girl, a girl who looked around in spite of herself. I hand it to my daughter, wishing she could understand, but knowing that this space is purely my own and no one can share this bubble with me. "The answer, the truth, your mother, is in here.") She looked around, examining the world anew. Her mother had tried to make change, as had her mother, and her mother before her. It was then she realized that the world will always change, but only she could change it to the vision she had, the way it could be, should be. Would Be. (Written February 25, 2003) posted by Cassandra 9:03 PM . . .
