Chapter the First
Mary-Sue's Intro: A Violent Life History and an Account of How She Defies Logic and Goes to Middle Earth
My name is Anna. I am very normal. My eyes have never changed colour, my hair falls within the range of normal human hair colours, and I do not hate my very normal life. I was headed off to my friend's house for a sleep over. A friend who was neither going to be murdered, nor my only friend in the world. We were going to have one of those watch-silly-cartoons-and-kid's-movies-until-morning. It was just dark (I live northern enough it gets dark a bit early), and I was just just crossing the road, when there was this squeaky tire sound and an odd view of shiny reflector tape. Something hit me fairly hard. In hindsight, I realize this is a truly insulting thing to happen to someone who is being set up for an epic plot crushing Mary Sue. They are supposed to be hit by a car . . . driven by a drunk driver . . . while fleeing from some person who was going to kill them. But, no, I got run over by some maniac on a bicycle! Insulting.
Ok, so then I don't remember much, but there was that fuzzy awful feeling of having all the air smashed out of you. I felt someone roll me over.
"Hey," I slurred, "don't do that, what if my neck is broken or something," I trailed off into a random mumble.
"Cnapa?" [Lad? {see note #1}]
"whaa?" The world was beginning to come back. . . into something weird.
"Weird clothes there." I thought, "Was that some kind of bike outfit? Seriously, I thought they wore sleek, aerodynamic stuff. I mean, who wears-
"Wha bealan thu?" [What happened to you?] Wait, there is someone talking to me. Right, I was run over by a bike. No wonder I hurt a lot. I twitched a bit to see if I could still move. Yes, so probably nothing broken. Not to say that nothing hurt. . .
"-habban thu brecan awiht?" [- have you broken anything?] Oh, a guy is speaking at me.
"I, I think, I'm ok, or something, just bashed a bit." I moved to sit up, and a few hands helped me. The world was getting less grainy by the second.
"hider" [here] Another voice. Why couldn't I understand that? It'd probably clear up with my vision.
"hider," it repeated and some other hands gave me a cup, and helped me take a drink of . . . bleech! Ok, I know there is that whole burnt toast taste thing, but that was really bad water. And it didn't really taste like burnt toast. More like they got it out of a puddle. I looked up.
"Asian him gif he cunnan hwaer we agan gan. . . neah se burg to se north?"[Ask him if he know where we have gone. . . near the village to the north?]
"Ic gefdan full . . . beon losian on min agen land!"[I feel very . . . to be lost on my own land . . .]
"Ryce, we beon ealle fah." [Ryce, we're all at fault.]
"Hider, cnapa, beon ne in burig neah? Thu cunnan hwaer thu beon? [Here lad, be not a village near? You know where you are?]
"I think I might be ok, I, I ... " I said. I was starting to feel less deadishly roadkill like. "here, I'll just go home, and, ahhh, maybe you could call my parents, or, or here I'll give you their number, and, um, I think, here I'll just sit here, and I'll be fine in a moment, you'll see..." One of the dudes put his hand on my forehead.
"Na," he said turning to one of the others, "ne adlig." [No, not ill]
"Butan ic hicgan gif beon ne in micel dynt to se hafela." [But I wonder if be not some great blow to the head.]
"Motan beon reafere bereofan ealle his aeht ac ge-logian him her." [Maybe robbers stole all his possessions and left him here.]
"Heoron beon his pohha. Flaet beon hoary open." [Here is his bag. It's been torn open.]
"Beon too deorc to findan ure foldweg eac." [it is too dark to find our way in any case.]
"Her, beran him ofer her, beon ma hleo. Ic agan se lig beginnan hrathe" [Here, bring him over here, it is more sheltered. I'll have this fire started in a bit.]
"hwa gif se reafere cuman baec?"[What if the robbers come back?]
"Eac beon cald!"[Besides, it's cold!] I blinked.
"You know, the ambulance is really slow, if that is what you are waiting for. And seriously I really don't need one. I really don't think I have any kind of concussion. Could you guy's lend me a cellphone to call my parents?" I eased off my shoe to get a better look at my swelling ankle. They ignored what I was had said.
"He beon riht, we ne sceawian." [He is right, we cannot see.]
"Beon betera flaet we losian samod, ofer an be self. We don ne bethurfan to demm aelc other." [Better we are lost together, than one by himself. We don't want to loose eachother.] One of them picked me up. . .
"Um, what, uh."
"Don na forhtian." [Do not fear.] I blinked again. Why. Could. I. Not. Understand. That. The person, who really smelt like a campfire . . . amoungst other things . . . only carried me over to where there were a couple others.
"Lowan, ge-logian his pohha her." [Lowan, put his bag here.] I blinked again. Wait. Where was. . . why was. . . something was very wrong about this. But maybe I'm just not used to being in a forrest. FORREST!?!
THE NOTES: 1. She has short hair, and pants, so to them its a given that she is a he. Also note that her name is Anna, which is elvish for Ôgift'. It would have been clever, had not that been a favourite sudo-name of, gasp, M - - - S- -. (There are also a few good stories with characters called Anna, but that is beside the point.) I also picked it because The Saxons, if I'm not totally wrong, probably would have known a few Anna's.
Mary-Sue's Intro: A Violent Life History and an Account of How She Defies Logic and Goes to Middle Earth
My name is Anna. I am very normal. My eyes have never changed colour, my hair falls within the range of normal human hair colours, and I do not hate my very normal life. I was headed off to my friend's house for a sleep over. A friend who was neither going to be murdered, nor my only friend in the world. We were going to have one of those watch-silly-cartoons-and-kid's-movies-until-morning. It was just dark (I live northern enough it gets dark a bit early), and I was just just crossing the road, when there was this squeaky tire sound and an odd view of shiny reflector tape. Something hit me fairly hard. In hindsight, I realize this is a truly insulting thing to happen to someone who is being set up for an epic plot crushing Mary Sue. They are supposed to be hit by a car . . . driven by a drunk driver . . . while fleeing from some person who was going to kill them. But, no, I got run over by some maniac on a bicycle! Insulting.
Ok, so then I don't remember much, but there was that fuzzy awful feeling of having all the air smashed out of you. I felt someone roll me over.
"Hey," I slurred, "don't do that, what if my neck is broken or something," I trailed off into a random mumble.
"Cnapa?" [Lad? {see note #1}]
"whaa?" The world was beginning to come back. . . into something weird.
"Weird clothes there." I thought, "Was that some kind of bike outfit? Seriously, I thought they wore sleek, aerodynamic stuff. I mean, who wears-
"Wha bealan thu?" [What happened to you?] Wait, there is someone talking to me. Right, I was run over by a bike. No wonder I hurt a lot. I twitched a bit to see if I could still move. Yes, so probably nothing broken. Not to say that nothing hurt. . .
"-habban thu brecan awiht?" [- have you broken anything?] Oh, a guy is speaking at me.
"I, I think, I'm ok, or something, just bashed a bit." I moved to sit up, and a few hands helped me. The world was getting less grainy by the second.
"hider" [here] Another voice. Why couldn't I understand that? It'd probably clear up with my vision.
"hider," it repeated and some other hands gave me a cup, and helped me take a drink of . . . bleech! Ok, I know there is that whole burnt toast taste thing, but that was really bad water. And it didn't really taste like burnt toast. More like they got it out of a puddle. I looked up.
"Asian him gif he cunnan hwaer we agan gan. . . neah se burg to se north?"[Ask him if he know where we have gone. . . near the village to the north?]
"Ic gefdan full . . . beon losian on min agen land!"[I feel very . . . to be lost on my own land . . .]
"Ryce, we beon ealle fah." [Ryce, we're all at fault.]
"Hider, cnapa, beon ne in burig neah? Thu cunnan hwaer thu beon? [Here lad, be not a village near? You know where you are?]
"I think I might be ok, I, I ... " I said. I was starting to feel less deadishly roadkill like. "here, I'll just go home, and, ahhh, maybe you could call my parents, or, or here I'll give you their number, and, um, I think, here I'll just sit here, and I'll be fine in a moment, you'll see..." One of the dudes put his hand on my forehead.
"Na," he said turning to one of the others, "ne adlig." [No, not ill]
"Butan ic hicgan gif beon ne in micel dynt to se hafela." [But I wonder if be not some great blow to the head.]
"Motan beon reafere bereofan ealle his aeht ac ge-logian him her." [Maybe robbers stole all his possessions and left him here.]
"Heoron beon his pohha. Flaet beon hoary open." [Here is his bag. It's been torn open.]
"Beon too deorc to findan ure foldweg eac." [it is too dark to find our way in any case.]
"Her, beran him ofer her, beon ma hleo. Ic agan se lig beginnan hrathe" [Here, bring him over here, it is more sheltered. I'll have this fire started in a bit.]
"hwa gif se reafere cuman baec?"[What if the robbers come back?]
"Eac beon cald!"[Besides, it's cold!] I blinked.
"You know, the ambulance is really slow, if that is what you are waiting for. And seriously I really don't need one. I really don't think I have any kind of concussion. Could you guy's lend me a cellphone to call my parents?" I eased off my shoe to get a better look at my swelling ankle. They ignored what I was had said.
"He beon riht, we ne sceawian." [He is right, we cannot see.]
"Beon betera flaet we losian samod, ofer an be self. We don ne bethurfan to demm aelc other." [Better we are lost together, than one by himself. We don't want to loose eachother.] One of them picked me up. . .
"Um, what, uh."
"Don na forhtian." [Do not fear.] I blinked again. Why. Could. I. Not. Understand. That. The person, who really smelt like a campfire . . . amoungst other things . . . only carried me over to where there were a couple others.
"Lowan, ge-logian his pohha her." [Lowan, put his bag here.] I blinked again. Wait. Where was. . . why was. . . something was very wrong about this. But maybe I'm just not used to being in a forrest. FORREST!?!
THE NOTES: 1. She has short hair, and pants, so to them its a given that she is a he. Also note that her name is Anna, which is elvish for Ôgift'. It would have been clever, had not that been a favourite sudo-name of, gasp, M - - - S- -. (There are also a few good stories with characters called Anna, but that is beside the point.) I also picked it because The Saxons, if I'm not totally wrong, probably would have known a few Anna's.