Okay, since the number of people who offered their two cents about the continuation was particularly low-- :cough, cough: NONE!! :cough, cough: -, I had to come up with it on my own. PLEASE review and give me a *little* something to go on, at least. Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot. Thank you very much to all who have reviewed so far!!
Glittering Pegasus-I *loved* your JP story-obviously, if you've read the reviews-and I'm glad that you like mine.
Dead Poet-Oh, sorry. So you're not in that Happy Place now? Hmm. Can't *imagine* why!! (Tee Hee.) Just think about that Toothpick of Doom, and the Demon Smurf and you should be just fine again. Let nothing to do with Matt-shaped cheese, feather boas, or the Brooklyn Bridge into that twisted, visual mind of your's. Oh, and keep all references to Lucius out, okay? So how's that Happy Place?
RoryLeighDugray-Nope, sorry. I don't much like Gabriel. Anne dosen't bother me, but Gabriel is too much of a pretty boy. So's Heath Ledger, by the way...
MovieDork10-Thanks for the review.
So, On With The Show!! (This is it... sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm *very* hyper again. Have you noticed that I only get actual work done when I am? That, Blondy and Dead Poet, is why I can't sit still in choir....It has nothing to do with the fact that I want that Hell-Bitch (and no, I'm emphatically *not* referring to Glory.) dead. In a slow, barbaric, tourturous way...Oh, sorry. A bit of track there, eh? *looks around to make sure no one noticed* Hm. Right.
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Anita sat in her chair by the window and brushed out her hair. One hundred strokes. Well, around one hundred anyways. She usually lost count and just had to estimate. 'Why can't I be more like Mother?' She wondered to herself. 'Mother is always perfect, but look at me.' She put down her brush and went into her little bathroom. There was a wash basin there, with a small mirror hanging above it. She tried to twist her hair up in the fancy ways her mother did, but finally threw down her hands in disgust. 'I just can't do it. I'll never be pretty like Mother. I must get this right, for Nathan.' She brushed her hair again, getting out the knots that had come back whilst she twisted it. Suddenly, she stopped. 'Get it right...for *Nathan*? Where on Earth did something like *that* come from?' She shook her head and turned down the lamp. She pulled the comfortor back from the bed, and crawled beneath it.
She sighed, listening to the crickets chirping. It was so nice here, away from those awful gunshots and cannon blasts. 'Wait a moment....crickets? Where are they coming from. I don't think I opened the window....Oh, Goodness! They must be in the house!' Anita's eyes grew wide. She absolutely *hated* it when bugs and animals got into the house. She didn't mind them at all when they were outside, where they were supposed to be. She threw the blankets back and crawled to the foot of her bed. She knew that if she stretched, she'd be able to turn the lamp back up without setting foot on the floor. There was no way that she was going to chance stepping on one of those dreadful things barefoot.
She finally managed to get to the lamp, and the room was flooded with a flickering light. She looked all over the floor before she stepped off the bed, and proceeded to search every corner of the room for the intruder. She couldn't find it, and moved on to the bathroom. Nothing there either. 'Oh, gracias, Anita. You're being a *girl*.' She mentally scolded herself. 'Go back to bed and forget about it. It's not even in your room.' She nodded, agreeing with herself, and moved to go back to bed.
But as she reached the lamp again, another sound caught her attention. She knew instinctively what it was. Someone was crying softly from down the hall. She began to go, but remembered that she was in her nightgown. As quick as she could, she put her dress from earlier back on.
The hallway was dark, and the curtains over the window were pulled. Anita felt her way towards where the sound was, ending up at a door on the very end of the hall. Knocking softly, she pushed it open. She half expected it to be one of the girls, but it was Samuel. He was sitting in the corner, on the floor, with the comforter from his blanket around him. He had his face buried in his arms, which were propped up on his knees. He jerked his head up at the sound of the door opening, but it was too late to hide it.
"Oh, Samuel! What's wrong?" Anita kneeled on the floor next to the boy, not really knowing what to say.
"Those men.....All 'a those men in the woods..." Anita was confused.
"Men? In the woods?" She looked out the window, towards the tree line. Nothing was moving. "Samuel, there is nothing there."
"NO!" He shouted at her for not understanding. "Not here! Home! The men with the man who shot Thomas..." He trailed off.
"They shot....who? And what about them?"
"They shot my brother and Father was so angry. He was crazy. He had his ax, and me an' Nathan had guns and Father said wait for him to shoot first and to pick out the officers..." He was rambling on, but Anita thought that she had pieced together what had happened. His brother was killed, and Samuel, Nathan and their father had hunted them down and killed them. She was uncertain about the part about the officers, though.
"Pick out the officers?" She put her hand on his shoulder.
"The men in the army. The ones Father is fighting now. The officers..." His words turned to sobs. Anita understood. She wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed, for nearly an hour before he fall asleep. She decided to leave him where he was, and went back to bed, forgetting about the cricket.
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(A/N-this part was supposed to be italics, but I couldn't get it to stay that way when uploaded. Sorry.) Anita walked along a dirt path, with the trees along either side. She was in the woods again, but different from all the others. Out of the corner of her eyes, she kept seeing Redcoats, but as soon as she tried to get a closer look, they had hidden themselves. Suddenly, a shot rang out, off to her left. She spun around to see what was hppening and saw a band of redcoats walking along a trail much wider than he one she was on. The one she *was* on, for she was now in a stream, up to her ankles in muddy water. The leader of the small group fell off his horse, and all the others sprang to arms.
Before they even got a shot off, three more shots rang out, and three more of them fell. They began to panic, shooting of rounds at random into the trees. Anita was terrified. She fell to the ground so as to not get shot, but soon became curious. She crawled up the embankment, to get a better look. As she reached the top, one of the redcoats fell. His hand convulsed, setting his gun off. It was aimed right at her. She screamed, and fell back down the small hill to certain death.
'If this is being dead, it ain't so bad...' She tought to herself. (A/N-I know, total cliché! So sue me! But not really....) She opened her eyes, and realized that she was now lying on her back in the muddy water, and could still hear the gunshots.
She climbed back up to see what was going on, and saw that most of the redcoats had already been destroyed. There were about five or six left, when a man with long brown hair jumped out of the woods. He held an ax, and proceeded to kill each of the remaining British. (But not Spike, because we like Spike. ...Oh, looky there! That rhymed! Hee.) Now there was only one left, and them man threw him into the creek and hacked into him. Anita couldn't look at it. She felt ill. Jumping back onto the trail, she saw three boys. Samuel, Nathan, and one she didn't recognize. They all held guns, and were looking at the man like they'd never seen him before. He turned back to them minutes later, and he was smeared with the Blood of the Enemy, from head to toe.
(Okay, that's the end of the italics.)
Anita sat up with a start. Sunlight poured through the space between her curtains, and she could hear the farmhands working in the fields. She got up and went into her washroom, to clean off the layer of sweat that covered her body, and soaked her nightdress. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get rid of the picture of the three from her nightmare.
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okay, that's all for chapter three! How'd you like it? I know, I said it would be up two days ago, but I decided I didn't like the end and had to re-do it. Also, I got grounded off the comp. Until Monday, so Shhhhhhh! I wasn't here!
I am thinking of naming this story The Patriot's Son. Should I go with that?
And for my useless poll, What are a few of your favorite things?
A) Raindrops on Roses
B) Whiskers on Kittens
C) Crisp Apple Strudel
D) Warm Woolen Mittens
E) Bright Copper Kettles
F) Girls in White dresses w/ Blue Satin Sashes
G) Brown Paper Packages Tied up w/ String
So be sure to answer *both* of my questions. If you do, you get a cookie!!! (::) Chocolate chip, none the less! Review!!!
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Glittering Pegasus-I *loved* your JP story-obviously, if you've read the reviews-and I'm glad that you like mine.
Dead Poet-Oh, sorry. So you're not in that Happy Place now? Hmm. Can't *imagine* why!! (Tee Hee.) Just think about that Toothpick of Doom, and the Demon Smurf and you should be just fine again. Let nothing to do with Matt-shaped cheese, feather boas, or the Brooklyn Bridge into that twisted, visual mind of your's. Oh, and keep all references to Lucius out, okay? So how's that Happy Place?
RoryLeighDugray-Nope, sorry. I don't much like Gabriel. Anne dosen't bother me, but Gabriel is too much of a pretty boy. So's Heath Ledger, by the way...
MovieDork10-Thanks for the review.
So, On With The Show!! (This is it... sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm *very* hyper again. Have you noticed that I only get actual work done when I am? That, Blondy and Dead Poet, is why I can't sit still in choir....It has nothing to do with the fact that I want that Hell-Bitch (and no, I'm emphatically *not* referring to Glory.) dead. In a slow, barbaric, tourturous way...Oh, sorry. A bit of track there, eh? *looks around to make sure no one noticed* Hm. Right.
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Anita sat in her chair by the window and brushed out her hair. One hundred strokes. Well, around one hundred anyways. She usually lost count and just had to estimate. 'Why can't I be more like Mother?' She wondered to herself. 'Mother is always perfect, but look at me.' She put down her brush and went into her little bathroom. There was a wash basin there, with a small mirror hanging above it. She tried to twist her hair up in the fancy ways her mother did, but finally threw down her hands in disgust. 'I just can't do it. I'll never be pretty like Mother. I must get this right, for Nathan.' She brushed her hair again, getting out the knots that had come back whilst she twisted it. Suddenly, she stopped. 'Get it right...for *Nathan*? Where on Earth did something like *that* come from?' She shook her head and turned down the lamp. She pulled the comfortor back from the bed, and crawled beneath it.
She sighed, listening to the crickets chirping. It was so nice here, away from those awful gunshots and cannon blasts. 'Wait a moment....crickets? Where are they coming from. I don't think I opened the window....Oh, Goodness! They must be in the house!' Anita's eyes grew wide. She absolutely *hated* it when bugs and animals got into the house. She didn't mind them at all when they were outside, where they were supposed to be. She threw the blankets back and crawled to the foot of her bed. She knew that if she stretched, she'd be able to turn the lamp back up without setting foot on the floor. There was no way that she was going to chance stepping on one of those dreadful things barefoot.
She finally managed to get to the lamp, and the room was flooded with a flickering light. She looked all over the floor before she stepped off the bed, and proceeded to search every corner of the room for the intruder. She couldn't find it, and moved on to the bathroom. Nothing there either. 'Oh, gracias, Anita. You're being a *girl*.' She mentally scolded herself. 'Go back to bed and forget about it. It's not even in your room.' She nodded, agreeing with herself, and moved to go back to bed.
But as she reached the lamp again, another sound caught her attention. She knew instinctively what it was. Someone was crying softly from down the hall. She began to go, but remembered that she was in her nightgown. As quick as she could, she put her dress from earlier back on.
The hallway was dark, and the curtains over the window were pulled. Anita felt her way towards where the sound was, ending up at a door on the very end of the hall. Knocking softly, she pushed it open. She half expected it to be one of the girls, but it was Samuel. He was sitting in the corner, on the floor, with the comforter from his blanket around him. He had his face buried in his arms, which were propped up on his knees. He jerked his head up at the sound of the door opening, but it was too late to hide it.
"Oh, Samuel! What's wrong?" Anita kneeled on the floor next to the boy, not really knowing what to say.
"Those men.....All 'a those men in the woods..." Anita was confused.
"Men? In the woods?" She looked out the window, towards the tree line. Nothing was moving. "Samuel, there is nothing there."
"NO!" He shouted at her for not understanding. "Not here! Home! The men with the man who shot Thomas..." He trailed off.
"They shot....who? And what about them?"
"They shot my brother and Father was so angry. He was crazy. He had his ax, and me an' Nathan had guns and Father said wait for him to shoot first and to pick out the officers..." He was rambling on, but Anita thought that she had pieced together what had happened. His brother was killed, and Samuel, Nathan and their father had hunted them down and killed them. She was uncertain about the part about the officers, though.
"Pick out the officers?" She put her hand on his shoulder.
"The men in the army. The ones Father is fighting now. The officers..." His words turned to sobs. Anita understood. She wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed, for nearly an hour before he fall asleep. She decided to leave him where he was, and went back to bed, forgetting about the cricket.
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(A/N-this part was supposed to be italics, but I couldn't get it to stay that way when uploaded. Sorry.) Anita walked along a dirt path, with the trees along either side. She was in the woods again, but different from all the others. Out of the corner of her eyes, she kept seeing Redcoats, but as soon as she tried to get a closer look, they had hidden themselves. Suddenly, a shot rang out, off to her left. She spun around to see what was hppening and saw a band of redcoats walking along a trail much wider than he one she was on. The one she *was* on, for she was now in a stream, up to her ankles in muddy water. The leader of the small group fell off his horse, and all the others sprang to arms.
Before they even got a shot off, three more shots rang out, and three more of them fell. They began to panic, shooting of rounds at random into the trees. Anita was terrified. She fell to the ground so as to not get shot, but soon became curious. She crawled up the embankment, to get a better look. As she reached the top, one of the redcoats fell. His hand convulsed, setting his gun off. It was aimed right at her. She screamed, and fell back down the small hill to certain death.
'If this is being dead, it ain't so bad...' She tought to herself. (A/N-I know, total cliché! So sue me! But not really....) She opened her eyes, and realized that she was now lying on her back in the muddy water, and could still hear the gunshots.
She climbed back up to see what was going on, and saw that most of the redcoats had already been destroyed. There were about five or six left, when a man with long brown hair jumped out of the woods. He held an ax, and proceeded to kill each of the remaining British. (But not Spike, because we like Spike. ...Oh, looky there! That rhymed! Hee.) Now there was only one left, and them man threw him into the creek and hacked into him. Anita couldn't look at it. She felt ill. Jumping back onto the trail, she saw three boys. Samuel, Nathan, and one she didn't recognize. They all held guns, and were looking at the man like they'd never seen him before. He turned back to them minutes later, and he was smeared with the Blood of the Enemy, from head to toe.
(Okay, that's the end of the italics.)
Anita sat up with a start. Sunlight poured through the space between her curtains, and she could hear the farmhands working in the fields. She got up and went into her washroom, to clean off the layer of sweat that covered her body, and soaked her nightdress. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get rid of the picture of the three from her nightmare.
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okay, that's all for chapter three! How'd you like it? I know, I said it would be up two days ago, but I decided I didn't like the end and had to re-do it. Also, I got grounded off the comp. Until Monday, so Shhhhhhh! I wasn't here!
I am thinking of naming this story The Patriot's Son. Should I go with that?
And for my useless poll, What are a few of your favorite things?
A) Raindrops on Roses
B) Whiskers on Kittens
C) Crisp Apple Strudel
D) Warm Woolen Mittens
E) Bright Copper Kettles
F) Girls in White dresses w/ Blue Satin Sashes
G) Brown Paper Packages Tied up w/ String
So be sure to answer *both* of my questions. If you do, you get a cookie!!! (::) Chocolate chip, none the less! Review!!!
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