New original
Well here is a new Original Plot. I need alot of feedback to know how well this is fairing. Mind you this is still in the first stages and no where near ready but If I could know if there are people out thtere willing to read it it would help me immensely. Now for the first installment.
ENOLA: THE DREAMERAuthors Note: I found the name ENOLA on a website of Native American Names. It means Solitary.
Things are never what they appear. Especially when a girl, who has known nothing but pain, and loneliness enters the picture. She is the Dreamer. There are those who say that after their world was destroyed; that there would be another that would open up. An alternate which could only be reached by The Dreamer. Though no one knows who The Dreamer really is they know she must search what is left of the world for the entrance to Terinia.
I always find myself falling into the background. Melding into a kind of invisibility when I'm in a room full of people. I watch, and listen. I stand away from the crowd and I slip away into Dreams. Those of my own making and those of the people around me.
I was 9 when The Destruction happened. I didn't quite understand why I was the only one in the house to survive, something about me being immune to whatever biological agent had caused the destruction of nearly three quarters of the worlds population. My home was empty, and I had no one, so I left. That was many years ago. Now I live in a large city, most of the people left do. Those who live outside the cities edge are eccentric or dangerous. Exiled for various reasons by the regent. Most of us get by on whatever we can grow in the few green places left or sell our services to the newly formed government. Those who can't do either steal and live in the many abandoned buildings that are left. We are called Unwanted.
Thats where I find myself today. Sitting in an abandoned theater. The chairs mostly occupied. I prefer the carpeted ground near the screen. That is where the best light is. Even with poor light I sketch and write the things that enter into my mind. I can't stop. If I do then the images will engulf me and I would sit and Dream the day away.
There are others here with me. Many far younger. Some too young to take care of themselves so they attach themselves to the oldest of us. They act as guardians in the dangerous world we Unwanted find ourselves in. We fight everyday with other groups for the resources we can find. Food, water sources, clothing, toys (for the youngest), and other such trinkets to keep ourselves alive and warm. Territory is the most important thing, next to numbers, for the leaders of our groups. I have migrated between groups many times, never content to stay with one group for very long. The Dreams become stagnant and repetitive. I bore of them in only 1 season.
This group differs. This will be my third season with them. There is a boy here. One that stars prominently in my dream world. Even before I met him 3 months ago. His name is Devon. He is thin, like most Unwanted, and he is tall. With dark eyes and darker hair. His skin is the color of the leaves on the ground just before the snow begins. I haven't ever talked to him personally. He may think me mute, or crazy. I've never asked, and I have never heard him say as much but I know thats what most of them think. I can see it in their Dreams.
Devon is the leader of this particular group. He isn't the oldest I know. In fact I might have been if I kept track of those sorts of things. But he is the most level headed. The sturdiest of us.
The day is cold on the outside. Most of us are huddled under blankets and extra layers of clothing, sitting as close as we can get without being inappropriately so. The spaces around the fire barrels are at full capacity. I sit alone, colder than the others, one single blanket around myself. One I managed to procure from a poor soul in the park that had succumbed to the weather.
I draw and write in a notebook that is well worn and so full that I have had to start writing on the front and back covers. I will need a new one soon. Another to add to the ten I have been able to keep over the years. The others sit in the black messenger bag that is the only remnant of my former life.
“Hey...Enola,” That's what they called me here, since I hadn't told them my name. Not that I really remembered what it was before. Devon was the one to pick it out. Apparently it meant solitary in his grandfathers native tongue. I had learned of my new name by listening to the others talk. I like it.
I look up at Devon after I finish the small winged horse I was working on. He smiled wide when I looked into his deep dark eyes. I usually didn't look into faces, let alone eyes. They showed to much and overwhelmed me with Dreams. His was no different but his Dreams seemed to center around me most of the time. He was very peculiar. But it made it easier for me to concentrate around him if he was just thinking of me and not other things.
“I was cold and was wondering if I could share your blanket,” That charming smile was still there. His eyes showed me his intention. He was concerned I might be cold. I saw the hope that he might be able to get me to open up. I was suddenly unable to deny him. I inclined my head slightly allowing the tatty red piece of fabric to fall from my shoulder, revealing my black v-neck sweater.
His smile seemed to widen impossibly, 'how is someone in our situation able to be so carefree?' I thought as he sat next to me, his shoulder bumping mine slightly, as he huddled under the blanket.
His shoulder was warm, strange, and new. Touching wasn't something I did on a regular basis. Actually I can remember the last time someone touched me voluntarily,it was the day the world changed.
Devon was acting like he didn't want to stare at me. Looking at me from the corner of his eyes. I was fiddling with my pencil but I couldn't seem to concentrate enough to draw anything.
Devon seemed to grow anxious with the silence and said “I noticed you like to draw. Can I see?” He pointed to my notebook. I looked from my notebook to him twice before I handed it to him.
He looked at the first few pages, studying them intently before he spoke again. “Wow. Your really good.”
He continued to look at my dreams and commented at each new find. The flower filled fields, the dunes of desert sand, the horned horses, the furry beasts I had no names for. I stayed silent but watched him intently, nodding or shaking my head at his questions. He seemed really impressed with my Dreams. Though I couldn't think as to why. All the other children had similar Dreams. I was just able to put them to paper.
After he got to the end he gave me back my notebook with a smile and a thanks before he turned to look at the others that stood around the barrels of fire. He was a good leader. Keeping fights to a minimum and assigning guardians for the youngest of us. He could even talk himself out of a war when he tried. I placed my notebook into my bag along with the pencil sat watching as well.
I could see the confusion and jealousy on the faces of my cohorts. They didn't understand why Devon would bother trying to get to know me. Neither did I but that didn't change his actions any. He still sat next to me. The warmth of his shoulder seeping into my flesh. Then I felt warmth in my hand, which I had placed on the floor. I looked at it and saw Devon's hand covering mine. “Your hands are like ice, Enola,” was his excuse. I felt heat rise up my face and knew I was blushing.
ENOLA: THE DREAMERAuthors Note: I found the name ENOLA on a website of Native American Names. It means Solitary.
Things are never what they appear. Especially when a girl, who has known nothing but pain, and loneliness enters the picture. She is the Dreamer. There are those who say that after their world was destroyed; that there would be another that would open up. An alternate which could only be reached by The Dreamer. Though no one knows who The Dreamer really is they know she must search what is left of the world for the entrance to Terinia.
I always find myself falling into the background. Melding into a kind of invisibility when I'm in a room full of people. I watch, and listen. I stand away from the crowd and I slip away into Dreams. Those of my own making and those of the people around me.
I was 9 when The Destruction happened. I didn't quite understand why I was the only one in the house to survive, something about me being immune to whatever biological agent had caused the destruction of nearly three quarters of the worlds population. My home was empty, and I had no one, so I left. That was many years ago. Now I live in a large city, most of the people left do. Those who live outside the cities edge are eccentric or dangerous. Exiled for various reasons by the regent. Most of us get by on whatever we can grow in the few green places left or sell our services to the newly formed government. Those who can't do either steal and live in the many abandoned buildings that are left. We are called Unwanted.
Thats where I find myself today. Sitting in an abandoned theater. The chairs mostly occupied. I prefer the carpeted ground near the screen. That is where the best light is. Even with poor light I sketch and write the things that enter into my mind. I can't stop. If I do then the images will engulf me and I would sit and Dream the day away.
There are others here with me. Many far younger. Some too young to take care of themselves so they attach themselves to the oldest of us. They act as guardians in the dangerous world we Unwanted find ourselves in. We fight everyday with other groups for the resources we can find. Food, water sources, clothing, toys (for the youngest), and other such trinkets to keep ourselves alive and warm. Territory is the most important thing, next to numbers, for the leaders of our groups. I have migrated between groups many times, never content to stay with one group for very long. The Dreams become stagnant and repetitive. I bore of them in only 1 season.
This group differs. This will be my third season with them. There is a boy here. One that stars prominently in my dream world. Even before I met him 3 months ago. His name is Devon. He is thin, like most Unwanted, and he is tall. With dark eyes and darker hair. His skin is the color of the leaves on the ground just before the snow begins. I haven't ever talked to him personally. He may think me mute, or crazy. I've never asked, and I have never heard him say as much but I know thats what most of them think. I can see it in their Dreams.
Devon is the leader of this particular group. He isn't the oldest I know. In fact I might have been if I kept track of those sorts of things. But he is the most level headed. The sturdiest of us.
The day is cold on the outside. Most of us are huddled under blankets and extra layers of clothing, sitting as close as we can get without being inappropriately so. The spaces around the fire barrels are at full capacity. I sit alone, colder than the others, one single blanket around myself. One I managed to procure from a poor soul in the park that had succumbed to the weather.
I draw and write in a notebook that is well worn and so full that I have had to start writing on the front and back covers. I will need a new one soon. Another to add to the ten I have been able to keep over the years. The others sit in the black messenger bag that is the only remnant of my former life.
“Hey...Enola,” That's what they called me here, since I hadn't told them my name. Not that I really remembered what it was before. Devon was the one to pick it out. Apparently it meant solitary in his grandfathers native tongue. I had learned of my new name by listening to the others talk. I like it.
I look up at Devon after I finish the small winged horse I was working on. He smiled wide when I looked into his deep dark eyes. I usually didn't look into faces, let alone eyes. They showed to much and overwhelmed me with Dreams. His was no different but his Dreams seemed to center around me most of the time. He was very peculiar. But it made it easier for me to concentrate around him if he was just thinking of me and not other things.
“I was cold and was wondering if I could share your blanket,” That charming smile was still there. His eyes showed me his intention. He was concerned I might be cold. I saw the hope that he might be able to get me to open up. I was suddenly unable to deny him. I inclined my head slightly allowing the tatty red piece of fabric to fall from my shoulder, revealing my black v-neck sweater.
His smile seemed to widen impossibly, 'how is someone in our situation able to be so carefree?' I thought as he sat next to me, his shoulder bumping mine slightly, as he huddled under the blanket.
His shoulder was warm, strange, and new. Touching wasn't something I did on a regular basis. Actually I can remember the last time someone touched me voluntarily,it was the day the world changed.
Devon was acting like he didn't want to stare at me. Looking at me from the corner of his eyes. I was fiddling with my pencil but I couldn't seem to concentrate enough to draw anything.
Devon seemed to grow anxious with the silence and said “I noticed you like to draw. Can I see?” He pointed to my notebook. I looked from my notebook to him twice before I handed it to him.
He looked at the first few pages, studying them intently before he spoke again. “Wow. Your really good.”
He continued to look at my dreams and commented at each new find. The flower filled fields, the dunes of desert sand, the horned horses, the furry beasts I had no names for. I stayed silent but watched him intently, nodding or shaking my head at his questions. He seemed really impressed with my Dreams. Though I couldn't think as to why. All the other children had similar Dreams. I was just able to put them to paper.
After he got to the end he gave me back my notebook with a smile and a thanks before he turned to look at the others that stood around the barrels of fire. He was a good leader. Keeping fights to a minimum and assigning guardians for the youngest of us. He could even talk himself out of a war when he tried. I placed my notebook into my bag along with the pencil sat watching as well.
I could see the confusion and jealousy on the faces of my cohorts. They didn't understand why Devon would bother trying to get to know me. Neither did I but that didn't change his actions any. He still sat next to me. The warmth of his shoulder seeping into my flesh. Then I felt warmth in my hand, which I had placed on the floor. I looked at it and saw Devon's hand covering mine. “Your hands are like ice, Enola,” was his excuse. I felt heat rise up my face and knew I was blushing.