concrit, anyone? ( a work in progress)
Aug. 17th, 2007 12:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mary_j_59This is the first part of an original fic I've had in mind for some time. David, if you're still checking in, I'd be glad to hear how you like it. Of course, everyone else is very welcome to comment, too!
About 600 words, g-rated, no warning, but, since it's SF, probably not to everyone's taste. This is the prologue to a novel (hopefully). The working title is "Honor" and the main characters are a 15 year old girl and 16 year old boy. More after the cut:
Honor
Prologue (first draft)
The boy nodded sharply at the girl holding the holocam and began to speak a second after she started to record. His lips seemed pale to her - he had been gnawing them, - and his eyes were glassy. But, though his voice shook a bit when he began, it soon steadied, and he continued in a monotone. Both of them knew the declaration must be perfect.
I, who was once Kiril Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name. He who was my father, Varen Kelesta, is dead to me. I do not know him. The woman Lirith, who was my aunt, is dead to me. The man Keren, who is her husband, is dead to me. . . .
The declaration was long. It had to be. Kiril named every member of his household, from his great-aunt to the youngest servant child. Then the animals the serfs kept for their milk and fur. Then the house, the land, every field and all the crops. There must be nothing omitted, no way for the police to take their revenge on his family, once he had become a traitor and a criminal. He paused and then swallowed when he came to the names of Merike and Skel, their two favorite cousins, but he kept going. It seemed to the girl that he would speak forever; the first of the moons had already risen, just ahead of the sunset. They must finish soon. Then she heard him say, "All these are dead to me. I have no clan, no land, no home. I am outcast and nameless. I am dead."
She pressed the switch to stop recording, and Kiril came to stand beside her, reaching for the camera. "Here," she said to him, " this is the switch." He nodded and she put the camera in his hand. Her hands looked very small and dark compared to his. "Is there anything else I should know?" she heard him asking.
"No. Just that one; you turn it up to record." He nodded again and she walked forward to stand where he had been standing, by a taller bit of wall. She took a deep breath, but suddenly it seemed that she was choking. Her chest felt tight, as though she couldn't possibly get enough air. "Niki?" Kiril said. She let out her breath in a sort of sob, took another deep breath and jerked her chin at him. She could do it. She had to. And, when she began to speak, the words came out perfectly, just as she had intended them to. "I, who was once Thanike Tesurik, renounce my family, my name and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name."
The boy, Kiril, kept his eyes fixed on his cousin. It seemed to him that it might give her strength if he looked steadily at her, and, indeed, she was looking into his eyes as she spoke, and not at the eye of the camera. Her voice shook as she named her parents, and he gasped slightly in sympathy, but she went on. He could tell that she would finish, just as he had. They had already done their mourning; the time for that was over. They were dead now, and the dead do not mourn.
About 600 words, g-rated, no warning, but, since it's SF, probably not to everyone's taste. This is the prologue to a novel (hopefully). The working title is "Honor" and the main characters are a 15 year old girl and 16 year old boy. More after the cut:
Honor
Prologue (first draft)
The boy nodded sharply at the girl holding the holocam and began to speak a second after she started to record. His lips seemed pale to her - he had been gnawing them, - and his eyes were glassy. But, though his voice shook a bit when he began, it soon steadied, and he continued in a monotone. Both of them knew the declaration must be perfect.
I, who was once Kiril Tesurik, renounce my family, my name, and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name. He who was my father, Varen Kelesta, is dead to me. I do not know him. The woman Lirith, who was my aunt, is dead to me. The man Keren, who is her husband, is dead to me. . . .
The declaration was long. It had to be. Kiril named every member of his household, from his great-aunt to the youngest servant child. Then the animals the serfs kept for their milk and fur. Then the house, the land, every field and all the crops. There must be nothing omitted, no way for the police to take their revenge on his family, once he had become a traitor and a criminal. He paused and then swallowed when he came to the names of Merike and Skel, their two favorite cousins, but he kept going. It seemed to the girl that he would speak forever; the first of the moons had already risen, just ahead of the sunset. They must finish soon. Then she heard him say, "All these are dead to me. I have no clan, no land, no home. I am outcast and nameless. I am dead."
She pressed the switch to stop recording, and Kiril came to stand beside her, reaching for the camera. "Here," she said to him, " this is the switch." He nodded and she put the camera in his hand. Her hands looked very small and dark compared to his. "Is there anything else I should know?" she heard him asking.
"No. Just that one; you turn it up to record." He nodded again and she walked forward to stand where he had been standing, by a taller bit of wall. She took a deep breath, but suddenly it seemed that she was choking. Her chest felt tight, as though she couldn't possibly get enough air. "Niki?" Kiril said. She let out her breath in a sort of sob, took another deep breath and jerked her chin at him. She could do it. She had to. And, when she began to speak, the words came out perfectly, just as she had intended them to. "I, who was once Thanike Tesurik, renounce my family, my name and my life. I am dust and ashes. I have no name."
The boy, Kiril, kept his eyes fixed on his cousin. It seemed to him that it might give her strength if he looked steadily at her, and, indeed, she was looking into his eyes as she spoke, and not at the eye of the camera. Her voice shook as she named her parents, and he gasped slightly in sympathy, but she went on. He could tell that she would finish, just as he had. They had already done their mourning; the time for that was over. They were dead now, and the dead do not mourn.
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no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 05:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-21 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 02:21 am (UTC)I really appreciate your taking the time to browse through my stuff when you are in such a painful period of your life, and I wish you peace and success with your future plans. I've gone through this livejournal and tried to make sure all the stories were tagged; I have two sets of stories, the first three or four dealing with Snape and Dumbledore in the Potterverse. The first one is called "Aftermath". Then there is "the Blessing" (which, along with "Aftermath", may be the story you want) - and then there are the three "Christopher stories", dealing with Snape and his son. "The Blessing" and this last one, "Reeling through the Stars", are pretty much independent of Rowling, andi'm quite proud of them; I also like "Tommy Serpent", which - almost - stands alone as well.
And that may be too much information altogether. As I said, best wishes, and again, I'm sorry for your loss.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-24 01:05 pm (UTC)