Two ficlets
Just to prove I have been writing (I have been writing a lot, actually, just not the kind of thing I put up), here are two ficlets, the first twisted to fit into a class assignment and the seconds largely a character study.
Alice in Wonderland -
He looked at the object in his hand sighed. "The wrong time again," he said to his friend, oft' repeated words between them, "it must have been the butter."
His friend, too, sighed. "But it was the best butter."
This conversation had happened a thousand times, all due to the unmoving object he held in his hand. Unless it was fixed, then it would happen a thousand more. And it could not be fixed until time was appeased.
Tell me, have you ever spoken to time? Have you ever exchanged pleasentries or talked about the weather? Or did you take him for granted, as though he would always be there, just like the movement of the simple object the Mad Hatter then held, its tick-tocking unceasing and dependable?
The Mad Hatter and his friend, the March Hare (no, no, they were more then friends, but what did it matter in Wonderland where such lines were perpetually blurred?) had never taken time for granted. In fact, they had invited him over for tea once, and had put out the best scones for him. Time had been their friend, and had been willing to bend the rules of the world for them.
Until the Queen's concert.
The day of the Queen's concert the object had been safe in the Mad Hatter's pocket, its tick-tock a comfortable metronome to guide his singing. But the Queen, as she often did, dislike his work and called out the fateful words (though she could not have known their importance) "He's murdering the time!"
And Time had quivered in fear and anger and stilled the ticking in the Mad Hatter's pocket forevermore, calling out in a booming voice, "If you want to murder me after those wonderful scones, then you may as well eat them forever! Henceforth, it shall always be tea-time for you two!"
And so it had been.
Despondently, the Mad Hatter decided to try putting jam in the pocket watch next.
A/N: This was written in response to an assignment where we had to choose an object and not reveal what it was until the end of our story, hence all the quite conspicuous moments when I didn't name the pocket watch.
Trojan War (Cassandra) -
She lies where she has fallen, her fingers no longer buried in the cracks of the stone, for when she tried to do so before she found no protection in the statue of Athena that she had clung to. The scream that she had uttered when Ajax pulled her away from the statue and held her down against the floor had been worldess, for she could no longer call upon her God for help. He had deserted her for her betrayal and though he might have come if she had called him, she could not shake the feeling that he would have no longer respected her refusal, and that would have been far worse than Ajax, who had never even asked for her consent and who had expected her scream.
Ajax was done with her by the time a shadow fell over them.
She did not move as Agamemnon, Lord of Mycene, entered the despoiled temple, his sword covered in the blood of her kinsmen. (He wished it had been her father's blood, she knew that, but it had been Neoptolemus who had gained that honor, who had flung her mother aside so as to plunge his sword into her father's body).
She didn't pay him any mind. Her mind was broken, and she wanted to find poppies to make a garland.
A/N: I have a very specific characterization of Cassandra in my head, and I need to write full lengths stories on her. Most pressingly, the poppy story, which takes place directly after this. Well, maybe someday.
Alice in Wonderland -
He looked at the object in his hand sighed. "The wrong time again," he said to his friend, oft' repeated words between them, "it must have been the butter."
His friend, too, sighed. "But it was the best butter."
This conversation had happened a thousand times, all due to the unmoving object he held in his hand. Unless it was fixed, then it would happen a thousand more. And it could not be fixed until time was appeased.
Tell me, have you ever spoken to time? Have you ever exchanged pleasentries or talked about the weather? Or did you take him for granted, as though he would always be there, just like the movement of the simple object the Mad Hatter then held, its tick-tocking unceasing and dependable?
The Mad Hatter and his friend, the March Hare (no, no, they were more then friends, but what did it matter in Wonderland where such lines were perpetually blurred?) had never taken time for granted. In fact, they had invited him over for tea once, and had put out the best scones for him. Time had been their friend, and had been willing to bend the rules of the world for them.
Until the Queen's concert.
The day of the Queen's concert the object had been safe in the Mad Hatter's pocket, its tick-tock a comfortable metronome to guide his singing. But the Queen, as she often did, dislike his work and called out the fateful words (though she could not have known their importance) "He's murdering the time!"
And Time had quivered in fear and anger and stilled the ticking in the Mad Hatter's pocket forevermore, calling out in a booming voice, "If you want to murder me after those wonderful scones, then you may as well eat them forever! Henceforth, it shall always be tea-time for you two!"
And so it had been.
Despondently, the Mad Hatter decided to try putting jam in the pocket watch next.
A/N: This was written in response to an assignment where we had to choose an object and not reveal what it was until the end of our story, hence all the quite conspicuous moments when I didn't name the pocket watch.
Trojan War (Cassandra) -
She lies where she has fallen, her fingers no longer buried in the cracks of the stone, for when she tried to do so before she found no protection in the statue of Athena that she had clung to. The scream that she had uttered when Ajax pulled her away from the statue and held her down against the floor had been worldess, for she could no longer call upon her God for help. He had deserted her for her betrayal and though he might have come if she had called him, she could not shake the feeling that he would have no longer respected her refusal, and that would have been far worse than Ajax, who had never even asked for her consent and who had expected her scream.
Ajax was done with her by the time a shadow fell over them.
She did not move as Agamemnon, Lord of Mycene, entered the despoiled temple, his sword covered in the blood of her kinsmen. (He wished it had been her father's blood, she knew that, but it had been Neoptolemus who had gained that honor, who had flung her mother aside so as to plunge his sword into her father's body).
She didn't pay him any mind. Her mind was broken, and she wanted to find poppies to make a garland.
A/N: I have a very specific characterization of Cassandra in my head, and I need to write full lengths stories on her. Most pressingly, the poppy story, which takes place directly after this. Well, maybe someday.