The Noble's Son
So, tomorrow school starts. Eew D:< eew, eew, eew.
Now that that's outta' my system!
For a while me and A. have been writing a book together called The Noble's Son. We're about 22 chapters into the story, and it's about a young girl named Meryil who's abused by her father and a young boy named Irian who leads an uneventful life. They both live in different cities, and a wall divides the cities. Luckily, the wall runs through both of their backyards, and by chance they happen to spot each other through a hole in it.
They start off hating each other but fall in love, and it's comical and serious and kinda' tragic all at once. Anyway, we switch off, him writing one chapter in Irian's point of view and me writing the next in Meryil's. It's quite fun. I figured I'd put my first chapter up (it's the second chapter technically, but I won't put his work up without his permission.)
Meryil looked up as the front door slammed, the vibrations shaking lose the set of keys on the hooks near the door. They tinkled on their way to the ground as her father stumbled into the kitchen, already stumbling towards her. She wiped her wet hands on her apron, pulling it off calmly as she tried not to choke on the thick smell of whisky, turning, allowing the water to drain as she set the cast iron pan in the deep sink.
“Where’s supper? You know it’s supposed to be on the table when I get home,” her father slurred, his words barely understandable.
“I’m sorry. But it is still light out and you’ve returned home early. I’ll start dinner now…” She said, trailing off. She knew what came next and stiffened, standing up a bit straighter as his open hand slammed into her cheek, forcing her to stumble back as she looked up at him, refusing to cry over the red stain that burned her cheek.
“You should have had it ready!” He shouted, grabbed her by the arm. She cried out softly as he dragged her into the living room, yanking on Meryil’s arm before pushing her roughly into the banister. She winced as the sharp edge cut into her arm, though forgot it when he struck her across the face once more.
“Now get out of my sight,” he growled, his hot breath making her gag. She pushed past him, rushing into the kitchen and out the back door. “Whatever, dad!” She shouted, slamming the door shut and trudging to the large tree that she’d found comfort in ever since she was little. “I shouldn’t even call that man my father,” she mumbled, sitting down tiredly.
Meryil sat with her back pressed against the grainy bark of a tree, the dead leaves around her only reflecting her mood. Tears streamed openly down her face in spite of her wiping them angrily away, leaving salty tracks on her cheeks. She rubbed at her blue eyes, the tears making them itch as she sobbed.
“I hate him!” She exclaimed to the air, leaning back and banging her head against the tree. She didn’t care anymore, no one cared about her so why should she? Life was extraordinarily boring, excluding the times her father came home smelling of sweat and whisky. Those nights were the worst. They were the nights she woke up with more than a few bumps and bruises. More than once she’d had to bandage up burns or cuts.
Looking down, she only now realized she was bleeding. She’d momentarily forgotten about the dull throb in her arm from him slamming her into the stairs, the sharp edges of the rail gouging her already scarred skin. Frowning, she used her hand to wipe the offending red liquid off, smearing it across her arm though seemingly not caring. What was the point? No one was here to see.
“I want more,” she mumbled to herself, no longer sobbing. Now she was simply… tired. She wanted to sleep and never wake up, falling over and over into endless fantasies and nightmares that were infinitely better than the life she currently claimed. Even in her nightmares there was someone to love Meryil, someone to hold her close while the psychopath stalked past, or someone to kiss her tenderly and tell them they loved her before she took her last breath and faded…
Stop thinking like that! She mentally shouted, flinching at the depressing thoughts, You’re perfectly fine as you are. You don’t need anyone. You never have and you never will .People only care about themselves. That old drunk ‘ought to show you that.
“What if someone’s different…?” She muttered to herself, her melodic voice barely audible as she plucked at the blades of grass around her, “Great… I’m talking to myself again… I’ll be locked away for sure…”
Standing up, Meryil smoothed out her skirt, the cheap silk-like material cooling her palms. She reached up to unbutton the first few buttons of her shirt, breathing a sigh of relief as the intense pressure she had to endure daily left her chest, giving her room to breathe. She couldn’t help but occasionally marvel at how uncomfortable women made themselves just to be presentable. In comparison, Meryil’s dresses were a lot more scandalous than most girls her age. Why? Because she refused to wear a corset. They were ridiculous, and she simply would not wear one. An undershirt was bad enough when added to the several layers she was forced to wear in order to make up one dress. She envied men for their ability to wear slacks and flat shoes, shirts that let them breath and the occasional not-too-think coat to top it all off. It was completely unfair.
“And yet I still go along with it… I should just pretend to be a boy… And I’m doing it again!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, though secretly she smiled to herself. She knew why she talked to herself, and it wasn’t because she was crazy. She merely needed a distraction from the torment she would soon be forced to endure as soon as she stepped foot inside her house. And what better distraction was there than claiming you’re crazy and arguing with yourself? Why, there was none.
Glancing to the side merely as a reflex, Meryil caught sight of a peculiar eye that was very distinctly out of place in the dull wall she was so used to viewing. She could barely make out a lock of hair falling in front of it and stepped closer, getting down on her hands and knees. Her fingers curled around the cool grass, left over drops of dew wetting them. She could practically feel the dirt crawling under her finger nails.
“Well, hello there,” she said, peering through the small hole in the wall at the eavesdropping boy, “Who’re you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before, though I guess I wouldn’t really be able to tell, would I? All I can see is your eye through this tiny hole.” She reached up to wipe her tear stained face, hoping she wasn’t too hopeless looking, and brushed her dark hair off her shoulder. She was suddenly self conscious. She hadn’t spoken to a young man of any stature for a long time, her father keeping her locked up in the house to cook his food and clean things while he found some prostitute at a bar to enjoy.
Sitting back on her knees, she continued to stare at the boy through the hole, waiting for whatever excuse he could come up with in a few seconds to explain his eavesdropping and who he was.