Alrighty then Everybody!
Here's part 2 of MR. It's been revised a bit as well. I think I just mostly changed some grammar errors and such since this was a short chapter.
Oh! And when you're done, please review/flame & tell me how you liked it/hated it/want more/will beg me to stop torturing the masses/etc.
Thanks & Bunches ~ Stargaziey
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! (Though it would be nice), the poem by Emily Dickinson or Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein.
Magic Remembered Part 2 ~ Poetry Can Crumble Mountains
by: Stargaziey
Helga Pataki sat in the window seat of a plane heading for the enchanting city of Paris, France. She was 24 now and her long blond hair was swept into a perfect bun atop her head, though held with a couple of chewed on pencils. She had been on the flight for hours and was more than ready to reach her destination.
Sighing, she leaned back in her seat, bored from looking out the window and feeling uninspired to write anything on the blank sheet of paper before her. 'I should have brought my portable DVD player on board with me instead of leaving it in my suitcase.' She thought to herself. They had an in-flight movie, but it wasn't exactly what she was in the mood to watch, even though the man sitting in front of her readily believed that Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein was a classic.
"I find that reading is a wonderful way to pass the time on these long flights." A voice, laced with an Irish accent, said to Helga. She snapped her head to the side and looked at the elderly woman sitting next to her.
"What?" Helga asked. The elder hadn't been sitting there for very long, as Helga didn't have anyone sitting next to her a few minutes ago. But the woman simply mesmerized her; she seemed so familiar.
"Reading, me dearie, it helps to pass the time." The old woman said again, without a hint of agitation, only a sweet smile on her wrinkled face.
Helga could only stare at the woman, but she realized the elder expected a response and she simply replied, "I didn't bring a book with me."
"Here, read this. I think you'll enjoy it." Said the old woman reaching into her bag and pulling out a book with a faded red cover. Helga took the worn book, but kept staring at the old woman. She had dazzling emerald green eyes and her graying hair lent one to believe she had been a fiery red head in her younger years. Her attire also caught Helga's eye: but the only part of it that Helga could see was the large royal purple shawl that almost completely covered the old woman.
"Uh...thanks." Helga replied, finally looking down at the book and reading the title: Greatest Works of Emily Dickinson. Helga gasped in her throat and turned to ask the elderly woman a question, but she only found an empty seat.
A stewardess walked by and Helga caught her attention. "Hey, 'scuse me! Where's the old woman that was sitting here just a moment ago?"
The stewardess looked at her in confusion and shook her head, "I'm sorry, miss, but that seat has been empty the entire flight."
"I know," Helga replied, "But an old woman had sat next to me and then she just left a moment ago. She has green eyes and graying red hair and she was wearing a big, dark purple shawl. Do you know where she went?"
Again the young stewardess shook her head, "Miss, I've been watching the aisles for the last half hour. I'm sorry, but I haven't seen a woman on this flight that matches that description." Helga simply nodded her head and the stewardess went about her business.
Helga sat back in her seat; memories of her 4th grade year at PS 118 came flooding back. The mysterious woman in the royal purple cloak, the roses, and a football headed boy named Arnold. 'It couldn't possibly be.' Helga thought to herself.
She opened the book and turned to where the bookmark held a page for whom ever was last reading. But Helga's stomach leapt into her throat when she saw the poem on the reserved page.
"Hope" is the Thing with Feathers
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
The poem had been Helga's favorite ever since she had started reading Emily Dickinson back in the 4th grade. It had been because of Brenna O'Leigh that she had found a common ground with the exalted poet. This specific poem reminded her of her beloved, her Arnold. He was the quoted Hope within her soul and, truth be told, he never asked even a crumb of her.
"Helga, get a grip on yourself, old girl." She whispered fiercely to herself. Everything she had spent the last five years to create, the wall between her and Arnold, she could feel crumbling away from the memories that were awakened within her.
'Well,' Helga thought to herself, 'at least I don't have to worry about being around him, I can forget him just as easily as I remembered him.' But, Helga found that this task was easier said than done. 'Just remember, Helga, you're not ever going to see Arnold again.'
Here's part 2 of MR. It's been revised a bit as well. I think I just mostly changed some grammar errors and such since this was a short chapter.
Oh! And when you're done, please review/flame & tell me how you liked it/hated it/want more/will beg me to stop torturing the masses/etc.
Thanks & Bunches ~ Stargaziey
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! (Though it would be nice), the poem by Emily Dickinson or Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein.
Magic Remembered Part 2 ~ Poetry Can Crumble Mountains
by: Stargaziey
Helga Pataki sat in the window seat of a plane heading for the enchanting city of Paris, France. She was 24 now and her long blond hair was swept into a perfect bun atop her head, though held with a couple of chewed on pencils. She had been on the flight for hours and was more than ready to reach her destination.
Sighing, she leaned back in her seat, bored from looking out the window and feeling uninspired to write anything on the blank sheet of paper before her. 'I should have brought my portable DVD player on board with me instead of leaving it in my suitcase.' She thought to herself. They had an in-flight movie, but it wasn't exactly what she was in the mood to watch, even though the man sitting in front of her readily believed that Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein was a classic.
"I find that reading is a wonderful way to pass the time on these long flights." A voice, laced with an Irish accent, said to Helga. She snapped her head to the side and looked at the elderly woman sitting next to her.
"What?" Helga asked. The elder hadn't been sitting there for very long, as Helga didn't have anyone sitting next to her a few minutes ago. But the woman simply mesmerized her; she seemed so familiar.
"Reading, me dearie, it helps to pass the time." The old woman said again, without a hint of agitation, only a sweet smile on her wrinkled face.
Helga could only stare at the woman, but she realized the elder expected a response and she simply replied, "I didn't bring a book with me."
"Here, read this. I think you'll enjoy it." Said the old woman reaching into her bag and pulling out a book with a faded red cover. Helga took the worn book, but kept staring at the old woman. She had dazzling emerald green eyes and her graying hair lent one to believe she had been a fiery red head in her younger years. Her attire also caught Helga's eye: but the only part of it that Helga could see was the large royal purple shawl that almost completely covered the old woman.
"Uh...thanks." Helga replied, finally looking down at the book and reading the title: Greatest Works of Emily Dickinson. Helga gasped in her throat and turned to ask the elderly woman a question, but she only found an empty seat.
A stewardess walked by and Helga caught her attention. "Hey, 'scuse me! Where's the old woman that was sitting here just a moment ago?"
The stewardess looked at her in confusion and shook her head, "I'm sorry, miss, but that seat has been empty the entire flight."
"I know," Helga replied, "But an old woman had sat next to me and then she just left a moment ago. She has green eyes and graying red hair and she was wearing a big, dark purple shawl. Do you know where she went?"
Again the young stewardess shook her head, "Miss, I've been watching the aisles for the last half hour. I'm sorry, but I haven't seen a woman on this flight that matches that description." Helga simply nodded her head and the stewardess went about her business.
Helga sat back in her seat; memories of her 4th grade year at PS 118 came flooding back. The mysterious woman in the royal purple cloak, the roses, and a football headed boy named Arnold. 'It couldn't possibly be.' Helga thought to herself.
She opened the book and turned to where the bookmark held a page for whom ever was last reading. But Helga's stomach leapt into her throat when she saw the poem on the reserved page.
"Hope" is the Thing with Feathers
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
The poem had been Helga's favorite ever since she had started reading Emily Dickinson back in the 4th grade. It had been because of Brenna O'Leigh that she had found a common ground with the exalted poet. This specific poem reminded her of her beloved, her Arnold. He was the quoted Hope within her soul and, truth be told, he never asked even a crumb of her.
"Helga, get a grip on yourself, old girl." She whispered fiercely to herself. Everything she had spent the last five years to create, the wall between her and Arnold, she could feel crumbling away from the memories that were awakened within her.
'Well,' Helga thought to herself, 'at least I don't have to worry about being around him, I can forget him just as easily as I remembered him.' But, Helga found that this task was easier said than done. 'Just remember, Helga, you're not ever going to see Arnold again.'