The Isle of While
The Isle of While Is a pile of rocks, Boulders crack and turn to sand. Ninety steps around. As Margaret sipped fine fruit of the oldest vineyard in France, a memory of a young man lured her attention away from Sir Stafford of the Howe Abbey. "Margaret, your flesh is so fine." "I can imagine you as a statue of talc." "Let me take you to my home and shelter you from all the things in the world that will wear your beauty to powder." "Maaargaret.." "MAAAAaargaret..." She was listening to him come up the steep passage from the sea. Rocks and clay piled upon more rocks and clay up the side of the cliff she runs to every day. Hands and feet clawing up the rocks and clay, not taking the road around Passi, the main road to the castle Onate. During that time, Margaret continued her pilgrimage down to the cliffs over-looking Onceina Bay. She threw wine bottles from the night before, hoping that one day her letters would arrive on the shores of While. Little did she know that Brennan searched the white caps with a hand made looking glass which took ten years to focus. His hand made lenses were quite good, spotting her letters as they passed by on the surface of rough seas from his confinement on the Isle of While.
Entry #2
When he was a small boy, Brennan wanted to be like all the other children of Passi. The aristocrats and their offspring collected genes like they were golden flakes falling from the sky during the cold months of winter.
His father worked all his days, head down, sweating. Brennan would dream nightmares and hear the hollow sound of the furnace as the bellows pushed cool air into molten metals.
As he grew he had only one dream, one ambition. To take the girl named Margaret away from Passi and away from the Castle Onate. He thought that even the prison cell on the Isle of While would be a better place to be as long as she was there with him. He dreamed and he imagined and dreams became plans and imagination became motivation and motivation became action. One day, Brennan would think about Passi and not the Isle of While, one day.
Entry #3
"Mmmm".
"mother.."
"Why must I go to Ornate Castle?" He wanted to know now before he left the house. He knew he would be leaving and without knowing why he was sure he would be different as soon as he was led out.
"What would I do there?" "He couldn't imagine why he could be of any use at all up on the hill." "He had seen the ships arriving with the blacks. They arrived, were led up the hill, never to be seen in town. His thoughs raced, but as he stood there in those clothes he felt himself changing, without fear.
Where will you be?" If he left would he ever to be with his family again? He didn't like being alone, ever.
(This is a segment from the story being published on Google Buzz and will be a part of Script Frenxy in April 2010.)
http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/eng/user/513135
http://www.google.com/profiles/awewriter#buzz
- FD Walsh
(Updated this morning after becoming featured here on RedGage
"Brennan.." His father spoke as if it was just another conversation but it was definitely not normal. "You are going up to the castle today."
Even at a young age, a boy of eleven, he was well aware that to travel out of Passi, up the road to Ornate Castle was almost unheard of. Outside of royal gatherings which require every town member to attend with gifts, being called to the castle was almost always a bad thing. Some men who go up the road never come back, assumed to be killed, for what no one would know.
Before Brennan attempted to find out why he was going up to the castle, his mother came inside his room holding his best coat and pants, the set she had made from the bolt of fabric she traded for her hair last year. "Wear this Brennan and remember that you are my favorite child.. my favorite."