AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this point in the story I am going to be posting from
Edward and Anya's points of view. On the document I am typing on, their
names are printed in italics just above the portion of the story in which
they narrate. As you all know, italics are made impossible by
FanFiction.Net, so if you see a name floating around in between two
paragraphs, this means that the name given is the new narrator.
Secondly, I have created a 'flashback/memory' mode in this story which is only a few short paragraphs separated from the others by double-spacing, beginning and ending with the following symbols: . Please understand that italics CANNOT be used on this website, so sorry for the inconvenience to you all.
I hope that's clear to you, but if it isn't please email me and I'll explain. Thanks for your time!
Phoenix Skyone
chapter
TWO
Anya
O nce I had tucked Katherine into bed, I saw to it that Edward had a place to sleep. I had begun to take great interest in The Great Legends, now that I knew Edward himself was a "great legend;" as he had been published in the manuscript. Words couldn't express how amazed I was at that point, so I simply stared open-mouthed at Edward as he sat motionless on the floor next to the book that made him famous around Wiltshire.
It is a strange thing, however; how so many people rejected Edward all those years ago. After reading his 'story,' I realised how terrible his life must have been since he was created. I was almost astounded at some of the things written down. Here is what it said, and here is what I understood was one of the hardest things in Edward's life:
'Edward "Scissorhands," as he has been named, is one of the most mysterious legends in Wiltshire's history. After his creator, who could possibly have been the genius Professor William Hall of Salisbury, Wiltshire; passed away, Edward found refuge in the dark depths of his hilltop-castle. Not long ago, he was swept away to a pastel paradise called Suburbia, a neighbourhood not far from where Edward was created. Here, he faced both hardship, prejudice, and the astounding power of friendship and family. After he supposedly fell in love with a local girl, Kim Boggs, Edward was locked away in the castle for his own benefit, after killing the boy who tried to murder him. Kim told Suburbia that he had died in a roof cave-in.
'From then on he remained hidden in the castle, wasting away his grief in ice-statues and hedge-sculptures. Until the present day, the mystery of Edward Scissorhands has never been unlocked, but we can keep on hoping he will reveal himself soon.'
His story had touched my heart. I felt so sorry for him, it was almost amazing. But I did not tell him how I felt; in fact I simply told him that I was proud of him for making it into the book, even thought it was not of his own doing. Probably the only person that could have told Zaria Joselon- Mathos about it was Kim Boggs herself, who I'm sure, would be willing to tell if she was asked. She seemed quite sweet, judging by what the author had written.
'Edward!' I called down the hallway. Katie was asleep and I had absolutely no worry that such a heavy sleeper would be awoken by my faint voice. I had been in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner as Edward was sitting in the bedroom with his hands tucked neatly above his knees, trying - well, more hoping - that he wouldn't damage or break anything in the guest room. When he didn't answer I decided to walk over to him and speak to him myself.
'Oh, Edward, what're you - '
I froze as a wave of terror washed over me. Edward had fallen onto the floor, and his face was bleeding freely as he seemed to have cut himself. He was obviously unconscious, and I didn't know what to do. Using my knowledge of everything my parents and teachers had taught me throughout childhood, I picked up the telephone and dialled the first number that came into my shady brown head: 9-1-1.
Edward
I couldn't breathe.
My lungs focussed on their main dilemma, and that was finding air to process through them. I worked my brain very hard to tell my lungs to inhale freely, and still, they seemed contained; pressed down somehow as if a ten-thousand-pound weight had been placed on top of them. And as far as sight went, there was none. My head was spinning in a swirl of shades of grey and black, which I do not count as one of my usual surroundings, however depressing they may be. I knew I was going to die.
I knew it.
My brain worked hard to bring more air to my lungs, but soon it had drifted off to a world of the past, a world of nearly one hundred years ago.When I had not lost my faith. This was a world when everything seemed right. And it was a world of the past.
'Anya!' I scream. My lungs are working again, but I do not care. I'm ready to die now, even though I know that I will not. In an instant my eyes snap open, and I am in a bright room full of men and women in suits just like the ones in my memories. In the mass of waxen colours there thrives one pastel-blue blazer and jeans: Anya.
Secondly, I have created a 'flashback/memory' mode in this story which is only a few short paragraphs separated from the others by double-spacing, beginning and ending with the following symbols: . Please understand that italics CANNOT be used on this website, so sorry for the inconvenience to you all.
I hope that's clear to you, but if it isn't please email me and I'll explain. Thanks for your time!
Phoenix Skyone
chapter
TWO
Anya
O nce I had tucked Katherine into bed, I saw to it that Edward had a place to sleep. I had begun to take great interest in The Great Legends, now that I knew Edward himself was a "great legend;" as he had been published in the manuscript. Words couldn't express how amazed I was at that point, so I simply stared open-mouthed at Edward as he sat motionless on the floor next to the book that made him famous around Wiltshire.
It is a strange thing, however; how so many people rejected Edward all those years ago. After reading his 'story,' I realised how terrible his life must have been since he was created. I was almost astounded at some of the things written down. Here is what it said, and here is what I understood was one of the hardest things in Edward's life:
'Edward "Scissorhands," as he has been named, is one of the most mysterious legends in Wiltshire's history. After his creator, who could possibly have been the genius Professor William Hall of Salisbury, Wiltshire; passed away, Edward found refuge in the dark depths of his hilltop-castle. Not long ago, he was swept away to a pastel paradise called Suburbia, a neighbourhood not far from where Edward was created. Here, he faced both hardship, prejudice, and the astounding power of friendship and family. After he supposedly fell in love with a local girl, Kim Boggs, Edward was locked away in the castle for his own benefit, after killing the boy who tried to murder him. Kim told Suburbia that he had died in a roof cave-in.
'From then on he remained hidden in the castle, wasting away his grief in ice-statues and hedge-sculptures. Until the present day, the mystery of Edward Scissorhands has never been unlocked, but we can keep on hoping he will reveal himself soon.'
His story had touched my heart. I felt so sorry for him, it was almost amazing. But I did not tell him how I felt; in fact I simply told him that I was proud of him for making it into the book, even thought it was not of his own doing. Probably the only person that could have told Zaria Joselon- Mathos about it was Kim Boggs herself, who I'm sure, would be willing to tell if she was asked. She seemed quite sweet, judging by what the author had written.
'Edward!' I called down the hallway. Katie was asleep and I had absolutely no worry that such a heavy sleeper would be awoken by my faint voice. I had been in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner as Edward was sitting in the bedroom with his hands tucked neatly above his knees, trying - well, more hoping - that he wouldn't damage or break anything in the guest room. When he didn't answer I decided to walk over to him and speak to him myself.
'Oh, Edward, what're you - '
I froze as a wave of terror washed over me. Edward had fallen onto the floor, and his face was bleeding freely as he seemed to have cut himself. He was obviously unconscious, and I didn't know what to do. Using my knowledge of everything my parents and teachers had taught me throughout childhood, I picked up the telephone and dialled the first number that came into my shady brown head: 9-1-1.
Edward
I couldn't breathe.
My lungs focussed on their main dilemma, and that was finding air to process through them. I worked my brain very hard to tell my lungs to inhale freely, and still, they seemed contained; pressed down somehow as if a ten-thousand-pound weight had been placed on top of them. And as far as sight went, there was none. My head was spinning in a swirl of shades of grey and black, which I do not count as one of my usual surroundings, however depressing they may be. I knew I was going to die.
I knew it.
My brain worked hard to bring more air to my lungs, but soon it had drifted off to a world of the past, a world of nearly one hundred years ago.When I had not lost my faith. This was a world when everything seemed right. And it was a world of the past.
'Anya!' I scream. My lungs are working again, but I do not care. I'm ready to die now, even though I know that I will not. In an instant my eyes snap open, and I am in a bright room full of men and women in suits just like the ones in my memories. In the mass of waxen colours there thrives one pastel-blue blazer and jeans: Anya.