Another offering from my NaNoWriMo attempt. I’m not sure if I like what I’m coming up with. However, liking it or not, I did a bit more writing that usual this week. I’m only posting 1,150 words of here though. The visual is a rather muddy watercolor of one scene in the story.
Everything on this post is copyright me (Kathryn Walton-Elliott). Please don’t steal anything to make money or claim it as your own. Thanks.
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Week 14 Written:
Settling herself on the damp grass, Chloe leaned up against the tree stump so she was out of sight of the sliding glass kitchen door. Mom would call her in soon if she could see her. Mama wouldn’t. Mama would let Chloe come in when she was ready, but as soon as she did come in, there would be something to do. Chopping, taking out the trash… Mama believed in time for yourself, but being helpful when you came back into the “community”. Mama was such a hippie sometimes.
Chloe stared out at the sea. She could just make out Canada in the distance, getting fuzzy and a deeper blue-green as the light seeped away over the horizon. Watching the familiar vista, she got that reoccurring urge to step onto the distant treetops and walk over everything to see what came next. She was perfectly aware of the impossibility of this, but felt the need for it anyway.
School tomorrow. The thought made her want even more to step away into the twilight; maybe sprout wings and fly somewhere with Litany.
Ever since she’d met Lisa, the new neighbor, and found out about home schooling, she’d been perplexed as to why Mom and Mama subjected her to public education. They could do better, right? And then she wouldn’t have to deal with the cattiness and competition beginning to zing around her classmates. She wouldn’t have to deal with the boring test preparation or the dry English lessons.
She’d brought the idea up with Mama (almost certainly more likely to latch onto the idea), but it was a no go. Mama had listened carefully, just like always and had said she’d talk about it with Mom. Nothing had happened. Chloe wondered if she should bring the subject up again, but knew that she would probably only get put off. Mama took her time and would say something when she was good and ready.
Meanwhile, the days were getting colder and darker and the nasty little notes were increasing in the nooks and crannies of her classroom. Yuck. Did she really have to go in tomorrow? Maybe she could fake being sick. She could, but Chloe knew she’d feel guilty all day for tricking her parents. She hated lying to them. It felt like a nest of snakes in her stomach that twisted tighter and tighter the longer she kept up the lie.
Chloe was deciding which was worse, school or a snake nest in her tummy, when she heard the flutter of wings. Litany landed on the stump behind her before hopping down to the cooling ground to join her.
“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” Chloe whispered.
“Are you alright, bug?” Litany asked as she groomed down her feathers.
“Just wishing I could stay here with you and the others.”
“But you can’t.”
“I know. Tell me the story… please.”
Litany smiled at the small girl next to her. Chloe was hugging her knees and clearly chilled from the damp soaking through her jeans. Yet she sat there waiting for her story, needing it more than warmth, food, or sleep.
“Many years ago, there was a silent god. He watched over the stars and counted the ones that fell. Every night he wrote down the names of the stars still hanging in the sky. Some say that the stars need to be named to be seen because they are so far from Earth and warm life. This god was happy enough with his silent, cold friends. He loved their names and wrote them in beautiful, fine script each night. However, one night he found himself with no ink with which to record the heavens. He searched frantically among the soaring columns and shining surfaces of his lofty home. There was nothing to be found. He had always subsisted on the company and beauty of the stars. So much so that he had nothing in his dwelling but glass pens, fine linen paper, and ink. Now the ink was gone and his sparkling pens made no impression on the sheets spread before him. In desperation, he looked out of a window and noticed a small collection of dwellings at the bottom of the mountain he lived upon. What could he do? He opened his front door, which screamed on rusty hinges and stepped in great strides down the mountainside. Once among the settlement below he stopped, unsure of how to make his needs known. He had forgotten how to speak. The people, who gradually emerged from their homes, stared at this pale giant and his frantic, transparent gestures. They did not understand him. Slowly, as they watched his indecipherable anguish, the sky darkened and the stars winked into sight… and started to fall. The god looked up in despair and a sound escaped from his disused throat.
An old woman standing nearby recognized the name of the North Star. The god could not speak any words but the names he had written every evening for years upon years. Name after name tumbled from his parted lips and soon the woman read his desperation and joined him. The stars that had quivered, uncertain in the sky began to shine steadily and the god began to relax his taunt upwards stare. The people surrounding him spoke each new name with stronger voices until the words were sung to the heavens.
That night the stars shone more brilliantly than ever before and the god never again sat quietly, forming their names in ink. Instead, each evening, he walked down the mountain and sang strength to the night sky with the people of the valley.”
Chloe blinked and turned, but Litany was gone. Sighing with a mix of contentment and yearning, the sun-browned girl pushed herself up off the ground and walked slowly towards the soft lights of the kitchen.
Inside, her mothers were each quietly doing their own chores. Mom was stirring veggies in a wok and Mama was still doing the bills that Chloe had seen her get out that afternoon. They both looked tired.
Chloe hung herself over the back of a chair, “What’s for dinner?”
“Just stir-fry and some couscous, baby,” Mom answered, glancing at her daughter before rummaging around for some basil.
“We had that Saturday.”
“No, we had stir fry over rice on Saturday. Anyway,” Mel said quickly, “if you don’t like it, you can make a PB&J instead.”
Chloe pursed up her mouth and sighed, “Can we have pizza tomorrow?”
“Homemade or delivery?”
Chloe examined Mel, “Um, delivery?” she guessed.
Mel bit her lip, “Maybe.”
Sonia started stacking up papers and clearing the table, “Chloe, you know we don’t get that unless there’s not much in the house to cook.”
“Or unless you two are really tired,” Chloe muttered.
Mel barked a short laugh; “She’s got you there, sweetheart.”
Sonia made a small moue and then smiled wryly.
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Week 14 Visual:
