Hello once more! I wish I could say that this is a full length story complete with a plot and prolonged character development but these themed drabbles are honestly way too much fun (and they're all I really have time for in between juggling college classes anyways). Now, without further ado, here are my cheesy "four elements" themed character drabbles.
(I also stand by my firm conviction that Violet is one of the most perceptive and subversively intelligent characters on the show and she seriously needs more love).
I don't own WordGirl or any of its fantastic characters.
Excerpt One: Taken from the diary of Violet Heaslip
Monday, April 2
Dear Diary,
Scoops reminds me of zephyrs.
Mom has always said that winds transfer stories, that they uncover both the past and give you hints at the future. Why, if you listen very, very closely on a spring day, you can hear the voices of the woods floating in the breeze, whispering the secrets of the earth.
Stories are always dripping out of Scoops's mouth too, almost like he can't quite hold them in. He spills them onto paper, his hunches becoming black and white realities. He scuttles around like he's restless, like there's aching fire in his veins. He's always on the hunt for something bigger, some sort of wild truth that the rest of this small town can't even begin to imagine.
There are times when the way his fingers dance over the typewriter keys enraptures me and I feel the need to paint him. I've always liked to depict him in a city like New York, someplace where the clacks of his typewriter keys match the pounding heartbeat of the city. I like to make feather-light strokes on his shoes, fanning out the tops so that they look like Hermes' wings—
Oh dear, it seems that Becky is calling me and I have to go. I will talk to you later diary!
Love,
Violet
Excerpt Two: Taken from the diary of Violet Heaslip
Tuesday, August 9
Dear Diary,
Tobey is always so petulant.
Being around him makes me equal parts terrified and concerned; mom has always said that people like him are live wires, fire ready to combust at the slightest touch. In fact, if I wasn't sure that he was fractured somewhere deep, deep down, he might be the first person that I genuinely dislike.
Most times however, I understand him.
He likes to rave and curse and fume. He spits out scalding steam at the world, enjoys wielding metal and anguish like a torch. He stalks about as if he were setting the very earth on fire around him. He is always impetuously creating new, awe-inspiring things, drawing out the fear and passion in others.
He is also unbearably lonely. There are times at school, where, if he draws close to me, I feel this chasm gaping in his chest. I like to pretend that I am able to carry this symbolic weight with him, shoulder to shoulder. On the rare occasion that he looks me in the eye, I notice a small spark in his pupils, both life-enabling and destructive.
When his rage flares, a volcanic motion, I mentally capture the sight and paint him later when I too am upset. I use angry, vibrant colors (red, orange, yellow). I frame him chained to a rock and create a modern Prometheus, the myth of fire stolen and given to humanity...
Oh dear, diary, I lost track of the time! I shall continue tomorrow—I am not quite done with Tobey yet!
Love,
Violet
Excerpt Three: Taken from the diary of Violet Heaslip
Wednesday, December 12
Dear Diary,
I adore Becky.
I feel, really, truly, that she and I are two mirror halves of a whole. She is my best friend, my confidante, and my foil; in areas where I am weak, she is strong and forward. I deeply admire her stability, her irrefutable clarity. She is grounded and tethered and so pragmatically sure. Mom has said that her security is astonishing and enviable.
However, there are times, diary, where her mannerisms scratch under my skin and make me believe that she might not even be human. Her skin almost seems a façade sometimes, a clever ruse that hints at something else underneath. I tell Scoops often and he simply laughs it off, tells me that my alien/ghost/fairy conspiracy theories are foolish.
I like to imagine that despite her otherworldly behavior, despite the vivid dreams I have of her tearing out of the sky like a comet, that she is earthen, as earthen as the color of her features. I paint her as mother Gaia, urging the giant scorpion forward to wield justice on the proud Orion. She calls earthquakes forward, destroys cities as easily as she could protect them and-
Goodness gracious! All this talk of the earth has made me forget that I need to tend to my lilies! I will be back soon diary!
Love,
Violet
Excerpt Four: Taken from the diary of Violet Heaslip:
Dear Diary,
I do believe that I am the element of water. Would you say that's accurate?
Love,
Violet
