"There's no time like the present," right?
Just yesterday I had the germ of an idea for a character. Today, writing about having the idea, I developed it just a little bit further. Then I found this writing prompt.
The story idea involves a twist on vampire stories. I've never read a vampire story. Not even Count Dracula, which was an assigned reading in one of my college English courses (I survived on Cliff Notes back then and still got pretty decent grades -- woo hoo Cliff Notes!)
Wandering around Blogdom, some of the first writer's / author's blogs I discovered are by people who write a genre I don't know anything about: Urban Fantasy. Based on the photos of book jacket/cover designs I've seen at these blogs, I've sort of determined this is a genre set in contemporary times, in urban environments, with vampires as characters. I know nothing about this genre, but have the simplest stereotypical view of Gothic or Dark Ages settings. That I could work within for now.
So, I set about writing a character who is "Undead."
First attempt was taking too much time setting up the scene and not getting to the fact I was dealing with the Undead and hadn't gotten into the character much at all. So, disregarding the "rules" of no editing, I stopped that attempt and started a second. First word is "Undead!" Well, got that much set up right away! LOL. Again, didn't get to the character too much though.
Not wanting to fiddle with that attempt any more today, I thought I would post a "Pre-Fiction Friday" entry here now. And then attempt to bring my character into the present but maybe not in an urban environment -- I don't know about that, yet ...
Why post before Friday? Hey, it's Wednesday! A lot could happen to that little snippet of a story between now and then. So, here's the closest it will ever be to a "first draft." I hope you enjoy it.
"Undead!" The cry rose from the group of old shrews like the yips and yaps of a pack of coyotes on the hunt. "Undead!"
Kendra's heart stopped for a long moment. The call came from behind her. How could they know? Her hood was drawn up against the day's chill air and they were behind her.
"Undead! Undead" The chanted cries grew closer and Kendra did not turn to watch their approach but busied herself with pretending to study the stitching on the ... what was she holding now? Ah, a glove made of soft kidskin. Yes, fine workmanship on that glove.
"Undead!" The jingle of the tiny bells on the belts The Mirrors wore were right behind her now. The jangle of the bells on their staves was annoying. "Undead!"
The five shrill, old voices snapped and cracked as they called, over and over, "Undead! Undead!" It was a non-stop litany. They were right behind Kendra and seemed to have stopped there. They continued their cries.
Kendra heard wailing. Coming from across the marketplace. Wailing, "No!" And then the loud congregational reply of the villagers assembled in the market, "Boo! Yah!"
The moaning "Nooooooooo" now moved off as The Mirrors moved on again. The song of the village was almost rhythmic. The soprano chant "Undead" followed by the basso "Boo! Yah!" was the beat of a tambour to the keening wail and moan of the quarry's wife or mother.
They had passed on by now. Kendra allowed herself to steal a glance in their direction.
The Mirrors! Oh, what a bunch of old shrews. They bustled about the village, dressed in those outlandish costumes: layers and layers of assorted fabrics, mostly scraps plucked from the rag bags of the seamstresses at the Bastion, held together with antler pegs and bronze brooches. Their hats were tall and covered with a wild tangle of vines, leaves, flowers and more fabrics from the castoffs of the gentry. Their shoes had huge swirling curlicues on the toes that stuck up in the air as high as their knees. Their stockings were knit, of odd bits of wool, into multicolored stripes, neither leg matching the other.
Their dress and stockings were a symbol of how they lived. Their work wandering the village, considered a necessity for the safety of the villagers, afforded these women no time to put their hands to any trade or work that would give an income; they lived on the generosity and favor of the town folk. Collecting a little of this here and some of that there, they made their way through life. They cobbled together their clothing, their meals, their homes from the gifts, the cast-offs and the scrounged effects from their neighbors.
There were tiny bells they attached to their belts, and the staves they carried, that jangled incessantly. On top of the staves were mirrors. Mounted in fancy bronze frames, the mirrors were set to make a circle of five, like eyes seeing in all directions. These staves passed from one Mirror to her replacement and were considered a badge of honor and a talisman of providence.
Not waiting to see who the quarry was, Kendra handed back the glove to the merchant and turned toward home, away from the plinth at the center of the market. Here the sales and auctions were held. Here the trials were held and the punishments meted out.
No trial was needed when an Undead was herded to the plinth. The evidence was there for all to see. The Mirrors proved it. Giving of evidence in a trial could not, would not, change the facts. The quarry either was or wasn't Undead.
Back home, Kendra slammed the door against the chill of the damp Autumn air. She leaned back against the door, her breath coming in gasps. She had almost run the last half-mile home. The echo of The Mirrors and the villagers filled her ears, her brain, her mind, her soul. Her soul!
Slowly she drew back the hood of her cloak and peered toward the mirror on the opposite wall. She choked on a cry of despair. She stifled it and began to cough.
Mirrors were a strange thing. Every home had at least one. The richest merchants often had entire walls covered in mirrors mounted in ornately decorated frames. What better art to display on the walls of a home, than the reflections of all the gifts of Mother Nature and the finery of living these gifts afford, like the home and its furnishings? Reminders of Nature's love and providence. Mirrors were placed to reflect the view through an open window, or through a door into another room of the home, or a vase of flowers artfully arranged on a table nearby.
Mirrors were not for the egoist or the vain. Mirrors could not confirm one's beauty or lack of it. Mirrors did not reflect the face of the Living, only the Undead.
Only the Undead had souls. And here, was the proof that Kendra possessed a soul -- her own reflection in the mirror.
Kendra's heart stopped for a long moment. The call came from behind her. How could they know? Her hood was drawn up against the day's chill air and they were behind her.
"Undead! Undead" The chanted cries grew closer and Kendra did not turn to watch their approach but busied herself with pretending to study the stitching on the ... what was she holding now? Ah, a glove made of soft kidskin. Yes, fine workmanship on that glove.
"Undead!" The jingle of the tiny bells on the belts The Mirrors wore were right behind her now. The jangle of the bells on their staves was annoying. "Undead!"
The five shrill, old voices snapped and cracked as they called, over and over, "Undead! Undead!" It was a non-stop litany. They were right behind Kendra and seemed to have stopped there. They continued their cries.
Kendra heard wailing. Coming from across the marketplace. Wailing, "No!" And then the loud congregational reply of the villagers assembled in the market, "Boo! Yah!"
The moaning "Nooooooooo" now moved off as The Mirrors moved on again. The song of the village was almost rhythmic. The soprano chant "Undead" followed by the basso "Boo! Yah!" was the beat of a tambour to the keening wail and moan of the quarry's wife or mother.
They had passed on by now. Kendra allowed herself to steal a glance in their direction.
The Mirrors! Oh, what a bunch of old shrews. They bustled about the village, dressed in those outlandish costumes: layers and layers of assorted fabrics, mostly scraps plucked from the rag bags of the seamstresses at the Bastion, held together with antler pegs and bronze brooches. Their hats were tall and covered with a wild tangle of vines, leaves, flowers and more fabrics from the castoffs of the gentry. Their shoes had huge swirling curlicues on the toes that stuck up in the air as high as their knees. Their stockings were knit, of odd bits of wool, into multicolored stripes, neither leg matching the other.
Their dress and stockings were a symbol of how they lived. Their work wandering the village, considered a necessity for the safety of the villagers, afforded these women no time to put their hands to any trade or work that would give an income; they lived on the generosity and favor of the town folk. Collecting a little of this here and some of that there, they made their way through life. They cobbled together their clothing, their meals, their homes from the gifts, the cast-offs and the scrounged effects from their neighbors.
There were tiny bells they attached to their belts, and the staves they carried, that jangled incessantly. On top of the staves were mirrors. Mounted in fancy bronze frames, the mirrors were set to make a circle of five, like eyes seeing in all directions. These staves passed from one Mirror to her replacement and were considered a badge of honor and a talisman of providence.
Not waiting to see who the quarry was, Kendra handed back the glove to the merchant and turned toward home, away from the plinth at the center of the market. Here the sales and auctions were held. Here the trials were held and the punishments meted out.
No trial was needed when an Undead was herded to the plinth. The evidence was there for all to see. The Mirrors proved it. Giving of evidence in a trial could not, would not, change the facts. The quarry either was or wasn't Undead.
Back home, Kendra slammed the door against the chill of the damp Autumn air. She leaned back against the door, her breath coming in gasps. She had almost run the last half-mile home. The echo of The Mirrors and the villagers filled her ears, her brain, her mind, her soul. Her soul!
Slowly she drew back the hood of her cloak and peered toward the mirror on the opposite wall. She choked on a cry of despair. She stifled it and began to cough.
Mirrors were a strange thing. Every home had at least one. The richest merchants often had entire walls covered in mirrors mounted in ornately decorated frames. What better art to display on the walls of a home, than the reflections of all the gifts of Mother Nature and the finery of living these gifts afford, like the home and its furnishings? Reminders of Nature's love and providence. Mirrors were placed to reflect the view through an open window, or through a door into another room of the home, or a vase of flowers artfully arranged on a table nearby.
Mirrors were not for the egoist or the vain. Mirrors could not confirm one's beauty or lack of it. Mirrors did not reflect the face of the Living, only the Undead.
Only the Undead had souls. And here, was the proof that Kendra possessed a soul -- her own reflection in the mirror.
She poured water into a goblet to try to stop the coughing fit, and there in the goblet, her own face peering back at her again. She threw the goblet across the room and cried out, "NO!"
For more information about Fiction Fridays, click here:
http://www.take2max.com/writing/fiction-friday/
To see my entry for this week's Wordless Wednesday, click here:
http://suseadoodle-ant-thymes.blogspot.com/2007/08/its-not-photo-this-week.html
(c)2007 Susan D Berg ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
(and like I put on the WW picture, "but seriously, who would want to steal THAT!?")
8 comments:
that was excellent susie... and i think you should explore that genre of writing,, as you are really good at it!!!
Excellent. Really enjoyed the mystery of it as well. Lyn from Bloggin' Outloud
I liked the word, Undead! You have done very well in this genre!
Great story, Thank you.
Enjoy Life!
Interesting, turning the whole mirror convention around.
This feels like it's to be continued. Is that in your plans?
Thanks :grin: for the comments. I think I do want to take the story further and explore the possibilities of the reversal. Sure was fun to write.
Suse
I like all the imagery with the mirrors, the exploration of the basic use for reflection, the symbolic meaning, and the use as a tool of oppression. I especially like how you've turned around who is reflected and who is not... the normal people are not reflected, so they can look into a mirror and see an "empty" room at a crowded party. But the Undead get in the way, clutter up the reflection.
Whoa, awesome premise. Good stuff!
Cat
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