If "Happy Ever After" did Exist
Hey, guys! Happy National Writing Day! This is just a little post on NWD. I will be continuing it! Please review giving me advice.
Two quotes about writing: "I write because I've always believed there is more to life than most people are willing to believe." REVIEW IF YOU KNOW WHAT BOOK THAT'S FROM AND I WILL PROBABLY PM YOU AND FANGIRL ABOUT THE SERIES :D
"Why am I compelled to write? . . . Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it." – Gloria E. Anzaldúa (I love this one :D)
Two Lives on Christmas Eve
Christmas was most certainly the best holiday of all, thought Rachel, as she turned away from her tall, bay windows Father had specially installed in her chambers. Glancing over at the other side of her spacious room, where several stones in the wall were noticeably newer than the others, she remembered her old window. A small little thing it was, with a completely horrid view of the street! All those dirty peasants and urchins milling about near her palace were no sight for a lady's eyes, Mother told her. They were to protest tomorrow, Rachel remembered a guard telling her father. Why in the name of Olympus would they protest? Father was a good king, a good patriarch. She had never wanted for anything in her life. Now, now, Rachel, she scolded herself. No worrying; you'll get wrinkles.
She ran a hand down her lilac gown, smoothing it. With a gauzy, full, floor-length skirt and a top rimmed with white lace and gray pearls, it was gorgeous, yes, but a rag compared to her birthday gown. She glanced at herself in the mirror, displeased to see that her face powder was ruined, and her luxurious red curls were coming out of their updo. Rachel was tempted to scream for her maid – useless, that girl was – but remembered her lessons. A lady never raised her voice. With dainty, porcelain-like hands, she rang the small golden bell on her dresser, waiting impatiently as her servant huffed and puffed, apparently sprinting up the stairs to Rachel's chambers. The door flew open to reveal a very red-faced, blonde young woman in an apron. "You – huff – rang – puff – madam?"
Rachel sat regally on her chair. "Olivia, get in here. You are to fix my hair and makeup, do you understand? I must look my best for the Christmas party."
Half an hour later, with her feet squished into small purple high heels, Rachel made her way carefully down the steps to the Grand Hall, one hand trailing delicately down the stone banister. As she reached the foot of the steps, she spotted a peasant boy her age, with striking green eyes and messy black hair, standing on the street, peering hopefully into the hall through the gap between the closing palace doors. Spotting her, his expression changed, first smirking slightly, and then becoming guarded as if she had done him an irreversible wrong.
Urchins. Honestly.
But, in her heart, she felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Father always told her that the peasants were poor because they were too lazy to work. The boy, though, couldn't get work anywhere, could he? After all, he was 15 at the most.
Putting the boy out of her head, she forced a smile onto her face as she approached the ballroom. Her once-beautiful dress now seemed too tight and her heels pinched her feet. She had a throbbing headache.
Oh, how she loved Christmas.
Percy had mixed feelings about Christmas. Most families had Christmas feasts, which meant more trash. More trash meant more food. Easy. But not many people actually required their employees to work on Christmas. Yay, one more day off, right? Wrong. One day off meant one day less pay, which meant one day less food. One day closer to death. All it took was a day. A second. An instant. Percy had known that since his parents died… oh gods. Don't think about that, he commanded himself. Think about the present. He'd be going to another protest tomorrow, along with the other peasants. Those royals, he fumed bitterly, are ruining everyone's lives. His parents had died because of them, because they couldn't care enough to contain the raging disease that had ravaged the land seven years earlier. They had found remedies for themselves and that was it. They were done, not caring any longer about their people, their kingdom. It angered Percy every time he thought of it. Why should the victims of the plague be forced into poverty when the royals were the ones to blame, the royals were responsible. He continued to stomp angrily down the street, wrapping his threadbare cloak tighter around himself as the frigid air bit and nipped at him. His boots needed to be replaced soon, when he had more money. He was ashamed to admit he had been tempted to steal once or twice, but had never done so, knowing it would displease his parents, were they alive. An old man caught hold of Percy's wrist. "Pardon me, son. Do you have any spare change?"
He met the old man's eyes, brown and deep, as if they were a thousand years old, and his heart melted. "Of course, sir," he replied, smiling, and dug around in his pocket for a few gold coins, which he handed to the man.
"Oh, bless you, child!" the old man responded, his eyes bright and shining with tears. "And," he added, as Percy began to turn away, "Son, things always look darkest before the dawn. Your life will brighten, trust me."
Percy nodded his thanks and turned away. The man wasn't psychic; how would he know? He approached the palace cautiously, hoping to scrounge for a few breadcrumbs here and there, but the doors were already closing. As he peeked into the Grand Hall of the palace – gods, they had so much money, surely they could spare a few coins for the poor – a girl in an intricate purple gown and high heels descended the steps: Princess Rachel. The gown itself would be worth enough to feed twenty families for a full year. She kept grimacing, though. Those heels must be uncomfortable, he thought, smirking slightly. Then he remembered – it was because of her that his parents had died. The smirk slid off his face like mud sliding down a wall.
She glanced over at him, her face first expressing disgust, looking him up and down as if he was something the cat dragged in. Then, her expression changed into…was that sympathy? He turned away, shaking his head inwardly. There was no way someone like her would ever be sympathetic to his plight.
Royals. Honestly.
But, she did seem genuine. Truly. He had never known the princess, but most of the kingdom was aware that she was a brat, born with a silver spoon in her mouth (quite literally.) People did change, though.
Putting the princess out of his mind, he hunched his shoulders against the icy wind, soft, silver flakes beginning to fall upon the thatched houses from the cloudy gray sky. It could be worse, he thought. You could be stuck in that idiotic ball, having to wear suits and ties and dress shoes and gods know what else. He grinned up at the sky, imagining himself in formal wear.
A few years ago, it was hard to imagine he'd ever smile again.
Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.
Ok, I have nothing left to say. PLEASE LOOK AT THE TOP FOR WHAT YOU SHOULD REVIEW ON IT WOULD MAKE MY DAY :D :D :D :D
