We all know the story of Sarah Williams, the girl who won over the inevitable, to conquer the endless twists and trickeries of the Labyrinth. Her life was so very dull, so monotonous before those events, she inhabited her own little worlds and fantasies, could not bear the reality, could never accept the departure of her mother. Blamed all but those responsible.
When that little girl's mother left, neither could truly understand why. The reasoning behind the actions was just as complex, just as pitiable for the mother as it was for the child.
Sarah was born perfectly normal. Textbook mundaneity. Healthy, red-faced and wailing. She looked rather like a miniature alien, red and squawking as most new born babies are. But this was not what the new mother, uncomfortably meeting the tiny infant's blank gaze, had been expecting from the little fragment of herself. She felt no connection to the child. Nothing.
Now, Linda Williams was not a bad person, nor a bad mother, or even a bad wife. She was just totally incapable of fulfilling the afore-mentioned roles, for she had never had any experience of them. She was very, very sad, deep down beneath the peeling layers of make-up and the wide smile, could never truly accept herself as she was, was always trying to escape from the utter normality and drabness of her existence. And it was for that reason that her heart's desire was to be an actress. Constantly inhabiting the form of any but herself.
Linda Sullivan was a rising star in her prime. She'd started with small roles, playing bit-parts in school productions in her spare moments, when not dating, or giggling with her gaggle of friends. It had not taken long for the praise from her clique of admirers to begin, each trying to outdo the others in their attempts to snatch her focus. Only one could win her, and that man happened to be Robert Williams, quite handsome, if not a particularly bright or insightful figure. Robert was a good man in his way, devoted to his partner, hard-working, and above all, extremely likeable. They began dating, and proved to be strangely compatible, intelligent, witty Linda arm-in-arm with her new beau were a common sight around the town. Both were very happy, holding hands, whispering to each other, passing notes in classes. In true romantic tradition, both often sat down for a meal, and would spend the duration of the event gazing vacantly, in the fashion of aspiring romantics, into each other's eyes.
Both surprised everyone by staying together, Linda had for a long time been known as being flighty changing partners with the week, her friends would say, and Robby (as he was known) was little better. Both were enamoured of the other, spending every free moment together. Until other priorities rose into frame for Linda.
Linda's first big break was winning the title role of Kate in Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. She shone in it, all agreed. She was a true classical beauty, striking with her small, regular features, and shining raven hair. Her voice could be just as commanding and wrathful as it could be submissive and compliant. Her motions never lacked power or persuasion, and she was as adaptable on stage as she was changeable in reality, alternating between fitful rage and docile, bewildered spouse. And it was this chameleon like skill, paired with her bewitching, captivating looks that would propel her to fame. She received rave reviews for an amateur, even getting a mention in the local newspaper. She had been so proud, had cut the clipping and slipped it into the frame of her dresser, to look on it every morning and remind herself just how far she had come from draping herself in old, tattered curtains and stalking the halls, reading the lines she had learned by rote to meet her grandmother's barking summons for silence.
It was this success that stimulated her to strive for higher things, she began writing letters, taking countless photos of herself with a dusty old Kodak and posting dozens of resumes to every television company she could think of. At first she received nothing but a steady stream of polite, well-worded rejections, but she grew more canny, began applying more make up, enhancing her age and maturity. In photos taken at sixteen she could of easily been mistaken for ten years older, and it was this that got her her break into stardom.
Linda had left school by the time her first television part came along, it was only in a commercial, advertising a girl's magazine of all things. But boy, did she make the most of it, she latched onto the director, the producer, the fellow actors, pressing them for answers in her insatiable quest for knowledge on how to work her way up yet further. Sitting in front of the flickering screen at home, with her cooing, ceaselessly fawning posse of chosen companions, she saw her smiling, made-up face flash onto the box. It was a feeling of exhilaration like she had never known before. She knew then that was what she wanted to do, to have her face dominating the screen, for the world to listen rapt to her voice, to admire her skill, to have her name screamed by writhing adoring crowds. For her to be star.
It was soon after this that Robby had proposed. She hadn't expected it, not at all, she'd been sat in her room at home, in front of the dressing table, applying heavy make-up and draping herself with her strings of cheap corner-store jewellery, anticipating what was to come in her pretence. He'd knocked on the door, stood, for all the world as if turned to stone in the threshold, stuttered for a few seconds, and then he'd bent onto one knee, gazing up at her as if in worship of an idol. And with a trembling, wobbly, uncharacteristically nervous tone, he'd asked her to marry him.
And she'd said yes.
In between the resulting constant buzz and rush of wedding preparations, Linda had found an agent. She had realised that studios did not seek actors out, nor did actors themselves seek out studios – it only makes you come across as desperate, uncoordinated and of absolute insignificance. Actors had agents to commit such petty tasks for them, her chosen representative was a amiable woman, middle aged, insisted on wearing outrageously glitzy clothes, as if striving to be one of those who she worked for, in a desperate ape of their glory. It was all because of Robby that she got her agent, he gave her the money, helped her in the evenings to scour minor screen magazines to find one willing. Her agent proved to be a worthwhile addition to Linda's entourage and soon found her her first guest spot on a television series, it was a tiny part, she only had three lines. But it was an overwhelming experience, to be on the set of a real television series – it was breathtaking. Seeing her name skim across the screen in the end credits was the best part though – truly her name in lights, her eyes had lit up with the sense of power and glory as she sat cuddled close to her fiancée.
The wedding followed some six months or so after the engagement, and it was truly a fairy tale, the sort that any small girl would dream of, crayon countless drawings depicting the spectacle. Linda was dressed in a gorgeous flouncy affair, it had a huge filled out skirt, and a gorgeous embroidered bodice – it had all cost a fortune. But this was no problem for Robby, his parents could easily afford the costs, compensating for Linda's parents – who were absent and unaccountable for the costs that would traditionally be theirs. It was thought odd by most that Linda's parents were not present, especially her father, she had no one to walk her up the aisle, pass her on, but Linda was not disturbed by their absence. She had known solitude for far too long to care. Indeed she was brimming over with happiness, absolutely inseparable from her new husband, even seeing him moments before the ceromony, despite the scolds from her soon to be mother-in-law.
Linda didn't tell anyone where her mother and father where. They were dead, and had been so for a long, long time. She lived with her grandmother, her hated grandmother who in turn despised her only grand-child, who she had raised and watched take the steady path to self-destruction in her constant defiance. It was an unreasonable hate in both directions, the grandmother hated the only child of her adored son for seeing her as the image of the woman who had robbed her of her beloved child. Linda, in turn, hated her grandmother for her long-distant attempts to play the parents she never had chance to know. Her grandmother, dressed as if still occupying a time seventy years past, was there at the wedding, sat still in the back pew, a relic from a dead time. Her grand daughter did not even pay her a glance as she glided up the aisle, the perfect fairy tale princess, risen from her past despair to claim her well-deserved joy. Linda had never felt happier than when she left the church that day, the first day of her life that was truly wholly hers. How she'd smiled and waved at the hundreds gathered in the church yard, her followers who showered her with countless rains of confetti, loudly declaring their love and admiration, all for her. She'd squealed in mock fear from the onslaught, laughed from the sense of exhilaration, ran speedily hand in hand with her husband to retreat to the bridal car that awaited them.
It was not long after the wedding that Linda found herself to be pregnant, and she eagerly told all, excitedly declaring how her child would be so loved, have all the best, have all she herself had never been granted. She spent hours scanning catalogues and magazines for the latest fashions, silently scrutinising the chosen baby names of the current A lists stars children, deciding whether such names would be suitable, worthy of her child. She wanted the child to be happy, of course she did, but Linda saw happiness in a bizarre mould, far removed from most common perceptions of the concept. Her married role was already tiring her, but the child, the thought of dressing it and prettying it as if a doll, parading her infant about the town, was perceived as a future source of pleasure and purpose.
On her final visit to her grandmother, to reclaim a few mementos of her childhood, she told her sole remaining relation of her news, and her grandmother raised an eyebrow from her needlework, remarking, "I will have to set to work." To which Linda responded sharply, "baby shan't want your efforts, don't spend time knitting clothes that will never be worn." With that, her grandmother was relegated to silence. Linda collected odds and ends, faded photos of her parents holding her tightly as a baby, a few dust covered books and her favoured collection of Shakespeare's plays, adorned with a flourishing inscription to her grandmother as a girl. A book, a pocket-sized red bound volume, was also among the possessions Linda carted home in her hopelessly frail cardboard box. It was a play that Linda had treasured in her childhood, but long since lost any true memory of. She laughed devilishly at the recollection of reciting it before her grandmother, her motivation being solely to chide her and draw forth a warning. The suspicious old biddy thought it to be dangerous, had some queer, archaic belief that it possessed some impotent power, just waiting to be called upon. Silly old fool, was the only concern she payed her grandmother's frantic final warnings as she sighted her sole remaining relation depart. She payed no heed to her grandmother's final words as she manoeuvred the box into the hatch of her flashy sports car, did not hear her cry, "if you remember anything of me Linda, anything at all, remember this, happiness is not found through others, it is found through self!" Her last words were spoken to the wind. How she sighed from the futility of everything and all as Linda's car pulled speedily away from the drive.
A month later, Linda's grandmother's rocking chair sat empty, it's occupant finally having gained some kind of peace, a form of completion. She took the secrets of the red-bound book with her, was never given the chance to warn of the danger, to truly tell of it's terrible power.
This is a story that has been through what film makers call 'pre-production hell' that is to say it has taken ages to get it anywhere near a satisfying piece of writing, it's probably still a bit too pretentious (you should of seen the original introduction!) but hopefully it isn't too bad! I'd love to know what you all think (I hope you enjoy it!) so it would be great if you could review, if enough people like it, I will continue!