Hi all. First thing:
I don't like Twilight.
I hope you weren't expecting Bella and Edward and the gang, because you're not getting them. I don't like Twilight, because I think it's badly written and badly plotted with shallow characters and a silly take on vampires (SPARKLING???).
I think some of the story, however, might be interesting: the main character's inner journey (which I really don't see in Twilight itself). So I have begun a response, "answer" to Twilight. It's not so much a parody as a "what it could have been" or what I would have liked to seen.
So don't expect romance, sparkling, vegetarian vampires or emo teens (well, maybe a little ;) ). Expect (if I get this written!) the spiritual journey of one Isabel Evans and her encounter with an ancient evil and how she escapes the twilight and darkness of sin into the glorious light of Christian truth.
Don't expect too much regular updating, I'm a slow, careful write! lol Reading and reviews would be MUCH appreciated, especially so I can be encouraged to keep writing it!
She ran for her life.
A sickly yellow crescent moon gleamed in the windows of the long hallway, barely illuminating her way. The narrow walls echoed her frantic, pounding footsteps, throwing them back in her ears as if to mock her. The breeze of her flight raggedly blew through her blonde hair and mingled with the echoes. But even those noises, loud in her ears, could not keep out the menacing growls behind her.
Those growls also mocked her. Every time she thought she had outdistanced them, they freshly sounded from blank doorways around her. She sobbed as she ran.
Please let me get away, she thought---prayed. Let me find the door…
"You can't get away, Isabel. The door is too far…" the voice said, as if he could read her thoughts. "There is no escape, my dear…"
She ran faster, but the voice only laughed. It was a terrible, mirthless laugh.
Suddenly, she slipped on something small and round. She slid headlong into a wall---no, a door! She struggled to get up, her hands and knees rolling over the objects on the floor. She managed to, somehow, and in her terror wrenched the handle violently, but she only succeeded in pulling it out of the door. She moaned, hopelessness invading her mind and spirit.
What could she do? Where could she go? He was coming for her…a growling voice with no face…and no mercy…
He laughed, knowing he had her cornered. She sank to the floor. The smell of apples, fresh and sweet, reached her nose. She was sitting on apples. Could she hit him with one, distracting him so she could run again?
"That won't work, my love," he laughed. "You are mine!"
The sick yellow of the moon shone on a grey face looming in the darkness before. It was coming faster and faster, merely a blur of hideous red eyes, matted grey fur, and long jagged teeth curled into a snarl. It lunged at her---she hid her face in her hands---
The beast leaped at her---
Isabel screamed and opened her eyes to Ivan, her puppy, licking her with his warm wet tongue. A pale grey light peaked through her window. She burst into real tears and hugged the pup-dog, relieved. Ivan merely licked the moisture away. Isabel sighed and curled under her covers with Ivan, trying to keep the morning at bay, though she dreaded going back to sleep and recovering that nightmare. Despite her thrill-junkie nature, she hated nightmares.
But the sun refused to sleep longer than it had been allotted to and felt Isabel shouldn't either. The light turned from grey to pale yellow and pink, shining through her window as if to cheer Isabel up. She covered her head, refusing to be comforted.
However, her mother joined the sun in the torment and pounded on the door. "Up and at 'em, Isy!" she said brightly. "Today's the day!"
Yes, today was Day of the Dreaded Move. Not for her mother or her new stepfather, but for her. Anger and resentment boiled in her stomach as she through off the blankets and set Ivan on the floor.
"I hate him, I hate, I him!" Isy mentally cursed Charles Hempstead as she showered and dressed. Maybe that was what her dream was about: a cold, rich, arrogant, "fanged" stepfather who had manipulated her mother into "chasing" Isabel to her real dad, all because Charles didn't want children, not his own, not even his "beloved" wife's.
"Won't even let anyone call him Charlie," she muttered. She'd called him that once and got a cold, contemptuous stare and in return.
Isy threw her dirty clothes into a cardboard box as she contemplated moving from cold, wet Spokane, Washington to hot Dallas, Texas. She suddenly laughed and closed the box---the logo of her father's apple orchards printed on its side: Evans Apples, Sweeter than Honey Since 1918.
The thought of her father's orchards made her smile. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad after all. Who needed a cold, arrogant stepfather and a flighty, easily-manipulated mother? It hurt that her mother hadn't fought for her, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all…