Post by Carmichan on Jan 7, 2007 17:39:10 GMT -5
Okay! I’ve been feeling kind of useless around these forums so I thought I’d write a little fanfiction thingy. Compliments and constructive criticism is welcome, but please try to be gentle because this is really the first composition I’ve ever willingly shown to people. Whee, I’m excited! …Well, no, I’m not. Actually, I’m terrified.
Anyway, I’ve always wondered exactly how Wendy and Jennifer met if little Jenny was locked in the basement all the time, and why exactly Wendy would go over there in the first place. Also, I’m having a bit of a problem with writer’s block and I’m hoping this can keep it at bay. Here’s a theoretical meeting, all dolled up for your reading pleasure.
________________________________________________________________________
Wendy hissed in anger as a stray branch snagged insistently on the hem of her dress. She tugged on it fiercely, but the stubborn limb refused to relent, only giving her freedom when the soft cotton of her gown gave way and she tumbled gracelessly to the ground. Wendy bit her lip to the point of drawing blood to keep a stream of rather unladylike words from issuing out her lovely, curved lips. That would be entirely unbecoming of her stature. Still…curse this barbaric forest! Whose idea was it to place an orphanage in the middle of nowhere?
The young girl jerked herself back up, brushing the dirt off while attempting to salvage her dignity. She had to hurry to Stray Dog’s lair. Stories with no feedback were soon to be seen through, and the children were expecting sweets for their good behavior. This was a new way to get them to listen, and they were skeptical. Wendy was sure that after a few distributions of candy they would fall completely under the spell of “Stray Dog”, but until then she had to be patient and soothe their fears.
“Susan!” Wendy exclaimed, attempting to gloss over her annoyance at her—well, Stray Dog’s — orders not being carried out in that instant, “Why aren’t you cleaning the animal cages? You know…” Wendy lowered her voice, feigning concern and fear; “Your princess would be terribly upset if Stray Dog decided to take you away from me…”
“P-Princess!” Susan stammered and jumped up off the grass beside the stack of cages, trying to curtsy but falling over. Wendy suppressed an eye roll. Honestly, the child was worse than a boy. “Well Princess Wendy…I…I think I’ve been good and I’ve been working really hard and doing everything you say Mr. Stray Dog is telling me to do and every day I hope for presents but he never gives anyone anything and I wonder if he even cares about us or if he’s even real because we’re all really good and Meg says her and Diana are wondering the same thing and I don’t want to do this anyway because it’s a yucky job!” Susan panted slightly after her hasty explanation, eyeing her Princess fearfully, too young to know when to say nothing, but old enough to understand when to be afraid of crossing a misunderstood line.
Wendy froze the kind, concerned look on her face even though she was seeing red after this ignorant child had DARED to question the validity of her orders. She clasped her hands behind her back so no one would see how tightly they were clenched around each other.
“I assure you,” she began, keeping the rough edge of anger away from her voice, “that Stray Dog IS indeed real, and I don’t think he will be pleased with this conduct.” She shook her head sadly, acting the part of the sad, helpless little girl. “No, no, not pleased at all. So terribly sorry, Susan.”
“B-But, Princess Wendy!” the brunette began again, fright in her eyes, and that wretched stutter of hers coming back, “we’ve all done everything he’s asked of us, but no one’s got nothing! We—”
“Now, now, Susan,” Wendy said with a calm air she did not quite feel, “How about this? I will go investigate these occurrences tomorrow. I’m sure if you do your work now, he will look over such gross disrespect. He might even bring you a little something as well.”
Susan sniffed, fear of what this fabled dog would do to her and Wendy’s promise of a gift causing her to all at once begin to cry and abruptly stop. She looked up to her liege with wondering brown eyes, “Really? T…Tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, tomorrow!” Wendy replied, trying not to sound impatient, “I will personally see to it everyone gets what they deserve. Now, don’t you have work to do?”
So now, here she was, tramping through the forest like some common beggar just to sate the children’s need for Stray Dog’s approval. If it was just Susan, she needn’t have worried; who cared what such a lowly child thought? But she had mentioned Meg had agreed…and there was a problem, and with Diana, even more so. Susan couldn’t gather followers herself, but the two aristocrats had influence. Whoever young Margaret couldn’t sway with her intelligence Diana could easily persuade with her charisma. There was a reason they were both in the upper class, after all. Wendy wasn’t stupid, and she knew both would be needed to stay on her side.
Clothes torn and dirty, and with a matching mood, Wendy made her way to the clearing of roses she had found years ago, long before the Aristocrat Club had ever been formed. Despite her frail appearance, the lonely Princess knew her way to the rose-covered path like the back of her hand. It didn’t mean she enjoyed the trek, but she had no worries of getting lost.
She sidled between trees and stepped daintily onto a beaten path. The sides would have been covered in roses, had the November air been warm enough to nurture them. Wendy smiled at the memory of the trail during summer despite herself; the site of the abundance of that fragrant red flower always did that to her. She walked quickly –not running of course, how entirely like a tomboy—toward her destination, humming her own little song just for the occasion.
"Monday's pea was a sight to see."
"Tuesday's pea almost made it free."
"Wednesday's pea didn't think to flee."
"Stray Dog will have his peas..."
Wendy loved roses. It was why she named her Aristocrat Club rules after these flowers. Surely such a regal cause would need a regal blossom. She walked along the worn road, pulling a bloom here, another there, making a lovely bouquet just for herself. She smiled at the bright vibrancy of the roses, so different from her own pale skin and hair. The bundle of flowers she was holding had gotten rather large by the time she had reached that strange man’s house.
As always, she looked curiously at the ramshackle building, but something –some strange clench of fear she never quite understood— always held her back from venturing any further.
However, despite her fear, she was not expecting the horror that manifested itself right before her eyes.
She jumped in surprise as the door suddenly slammed open and a young boy in black shorts and a white top flew out the opening. He stumbled, fell, and scrambled to his feet in record speed. His dark hair was mussed and his eyes were wild with terror as they locked on to the confused, frightened girl holding flowers.
Wendy backed away fearfully as this strange, haggard-looking little boy staggered toward her, the panic etched in his face making him seem like a wild animal that had just escaped from too small a cage.
“Please,” he said, grabbing at the front of her blouse and missing as Wendy continued to back away from his grasp, “Please!” he began again, a desperate sense of urgency making its way into his voice, the green ribbon around his throat swinging clumsily “You have to help me, this…this man is crazy! I’ve been locked in the basement for days and I’ve just managed to escape because the door wasn’t locked all the way and gave out when I tried opening it oh please I want to go home someone is buried in his back yard please don’t let him catch me don’t let him—”
A dark shape dashed out of the door from the house, out of the ruined porch, and down the short path past the old fence with inhuman speed as he clamped a hand firmly around the boy’s mouth and tightened the other limb around the child’s waist. The boy’s eyes bulged in alarm as he let out a muffled scream against the grimy fist.
“Joshua,” the rugged-looking man said slowly with a deep, husky voice. Wendy shivered and a cold feeling gripped the pit of her stomach. There was no sanity in that voice.
“…You know better than to run off like that.” The voice was monotonous, almost mechanical; no emotion dared to show itself in the face of such madness. “Horrible things are out there. Horrible people.” He let go of the boy’s mouth and proceeded to pick him up as is he was nothing more than a rag doll. “I don’t want to do this but you must understand. You must be disciplined.” The older man walked slowly toward the back of his house, the child in his arms screaming uncontrollably as his own sanity began to snap.
This mysterious, frightening man was unresponsive to the child’s screams of please, PLEASE, no, I don’t want to die; he only continued walking toward the side of the house, to a place where the rotting walls obscured poor, frightened Wendy’s vision.
With his free hand, he reached into a trouser pocket hidden by his long grey overcoat. The sun caught a glint of silver before he and the terrified child disappeared behind the wooden walls and green brush, a feel of foreboding filling the empty space.
Was…was that a gun?
A sharp crack echoed throughout the warm summer air and the screaming abruptly stopped. Wendy, shaken and terrified, felt her vision cloud as she struggled to hold on to consciousness. No…she couldn’t faint here, what if that man caught her? The chirping birds and rustling leaves sounded so strange now… each individual sound seemed to be slowing down and resonating off the air. She felt herself beginning to fall…down, down, down…
Ouch!
The thorns of the dangerous bouquet had finally pierced through the sensitive palms of her hands with her ever-tightening grip. Wendy jerked back to reality, dropping the flowers with her sudden pain. Before she could nurse her wounds she heard a recent voice emerging from the source of the shot.
“Stray Dog walks the street each day,” he said in the same monotonous voice, a new, reddish-brown liquid spattering and staining the front of his coat, “Collecting the peas as he walks to and fro; Big peas, little peas, every which kind of pea.” Wendy knew she should run, but she remembered how quickly he soared out of that house to capture that poor, unlucky boy, and the thought froze her to the ground.
“Come Monday, he finds a pea. Come Tuesday, he bags the pea…” he walked slowly toward a small shack to the left, close to Wendy, too close.
“Come Wednesday, he shows the pea to his son. Come Thursday, the pea kicks and screams…” he broke off his morbid chant to look up at the young girl staring at him with wide, brown eyes. Abandoning his former target, he chose to hobble to this new child instead.
Wendy opened her mouth to scream, but her voice choked; all that happened was an opening and closing of her jaw, unable to force a sound out. The large man stopped a few feet away from her and only looked, the harsh lines of his face refusing to relent. Wendy didn’t dare move.
After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke.
“Hello, little girl,” he said soullessly, “Have you come to play with Joshua? I’m afraid he’s ill right now. Terribly sorry. Let me give you something for your trouble. Please wait right there.” He turned and began walking toward the tin shed again, picking up on his chant.
“Come Friday, he grinds up the pea. Come Saturday, he buries the pea outside; the pea is in the ground…” he disappeared in the shed, emerging a moment later with a shovel and something enclosed in his fist. He walked back toward Wendy, coming a great deal closer than he had done earlier.
“Hold out your hand, child, here’s something nice for you.” Trembling, the young Princess cupped her hands and held them out, afraid to disobey this man. He stared at the drops of blood forming from her fingers and looked down at the pile of roses at her feet before lifting his balled fist and opening it slightly above her palms, letting the candy and cookies spill out into her waiting hands.
“Do be careful when picking those roses,” he said, turning his back to her and walking back to his house, apparently forgoing whatever he may have used that shovel for, “Even the most lovely flower has its dirty little secret.” With that, it seemed as if Wendy no longer existed in his world, he walked up the porch stairs, finishing his strange story as he left her behind.
“And by Sunday, it can't be found. Good night, young pea… Good night, young pea.”
The door shut behind him.
Wendy ran, forgetting the flowers, absently clutching the sweets to her chest. But even in her fear, the devious part of her mind was already forming a wonderful story to tell the others. A wonderful, horrible story about the one only known as Stray Dog, who rewarded those who were good and punished the lazy, disobedient children without a second thought.
Yes, that would make a wonderful story indeed.
Wendy stood fearlessly in front of that same house, waiting for her Stray Dog to appear. It didn’t take long. The mysterious man, his clothes covered in dirt and grass and a shovel once again enclosed in his hand, emerged from the side of his house and walked toward her.
“Hello, little girl,” he greeted again, “You must be here to play with Joshua. He’s in his room right now. He’s not feeling very well. You must be disappointed to have come so far. Help yourself to some sweets before you go.” He gestured to the tin shed he had disappeared into the last time she had came over and walked back to wherever he had came from, leaving the scheming Princess to her own devices.
She walked toward the hut he had shown her, absently glancing at the mailbox as she passed. Gregory M. Wilson. Ah, so that was his name. She continued to approach the small shack and opened the door with a clatter. The sweet, doughy smell filled her nose as she stepped in. She made a makeshift basket with her apron, pulling the soft biscuits off their trays and dropping them into her lap. She supposed two or three pieces each would be enough to satisfy them. Luckily, there weren’t too many children she had to convince. She tugged at the strings behind her back and the covering cloth slid from her shoulders as she put the ends together to form a sack in order to carry her prizes.
Feeling rather pleased with herself, Wendy stepped outside into the open air. Victory was sweet. She could almost hear music…
Wait.
She was hearing music. Well, humming anyway.
It wasn’t the coarse, cold edge of Mr. Gregory M. Wilson either, but a sweet, soft sound only an innocent child could pull off. Enchanted and curious, she took a tentative step to her left, where it seemed as if the gentle sound, so out of place in a territory where Wendy had only seen death and madness, was slightly louder. Still holding the apron sack in her hands, she followed the notes of high and low, making her way further toward the fabled back of the house.
The song was clear as a bell now, but still Wendy could not place its location. She looked around in confusion, looking everywhere, left, right, up, down…
Ah!
A small, rectangular window opened slightly to the cold air that spoke of almost winter. Wendy supposed it was to air out the basement. And behind that pane of glass and wood…
Was a boy.
For a moment, Wendy had thought that the child had been all right after all. He did have on the same clothes. But upon closer inspection, this obviously was not the same child. His hair was smooth and clean, and a light brown color as opposed to the darker tresses of the former boy. This one also had a smaller build; one more delicate than any other boy she had seen before. He held a small teddy bear to his chest as he paced around the room for lack of anything else to amuse himself. The subtle tune that was being sung below this mysterious, new boy’s breath drifted off as he looked up to see what had caused such a shadow in the window. He had such lovely, hazel eyes. Wendy suddenly felt rather warm in spite of the frigid air of England in November, with a not-altogether-unpleasant pang in her chest at the sight of this calm, unafraid child with his fair and beautiful face.
He only stared at the dazed young Princess for a moment, before smiling uncertainly and raising his hand in acknowledgement. Wendy returned the gesture, feeling as if the world had ended and only left her and this strange, unearthly youth behind the window.
“Joshua…”
Oh, blast.
Wendy started before gathering her apron and running off, not wanting Gregory M. Wilson to know she had found his precious son. Of course, this must be Joshua. Forgetting about her regality for the moment, she took off as fast as she could, away from the window and toward the pathway leading back to her home and her subjects.
Even so, she wished she could have stayed with him. Already, her mind was composing a letter, a way for them to converse without either of them being put in danger.
“To Mr. Joshua, the bear in distress…”
As the Princess continued to dash through the path of dead roses, she couldn’t help but notice that the sky seemed a little brighter.
________________________________________________________________________
Wow, I actually finished it. Surprise!
I like the idea for this…not so much the execution. The ending seems way too rushed, and I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry this is mostly made of flashbacks. I’m sensitive when it comes to criticism, but I’ll be more than happy to have some help in editing this. Anyway, thank you for reading it, and I really don’t know why it’s so long but that’s just how it happened. @_@ You should see my attempts at actual plot. XD Oh yes, and I had to edit because a reread made me realize how many typos and redundant words it had.
So…hope you enjoyed it…I’m going to go hide and work up my courage to come back and read any reviews people may have put up on this. *RUN*
Anyway, I’ve always wondered exactly how Wendy and Jennifer met if little Jenny was locked in the basement all the time, and why exactly Wendy would go over there in the first place. Also, I’m having a bit of a problem with writer’s block and I’m hoping this can keep it at bay. Here’s a theoretical meeting, all dolled up for your reading pleasure.
________________________________________________________________________
Wendy hissed in anger as a stray branch snagged insistently on the hem of her dress. She tugged on it fiercely, but the stubborn limb refused to relent, only giving her freedom when the soft cotton of her gown gave way and she tumbled gracelessly to the ground. Wendy bit her lip to the point of drawing blood to keep a stream of rather unladylike words from issuing out her lovely, curved lips. That would be entirely unbecoming of her stature. Still…curse this barbaric forest! Whose idea was it to place an orphanage in the middle of nowhere?
The young girl jerked herself back up, brushing the dirt off while attempting to salvage her dignity. She had to hurry to Stray Dog’s lair. Stories with no feedback were soon to be seen through, and the children were expecting sweets for their good behavior. This was a new way to get them to listen, and they were skeptical. Wendy was sure that after a few distributions of candy they would fall completely under the spell of “Stray Dog”, but until then she had to be patient and soothe their fears.
“Susan!” Wendy exclaimed, attempting to gloss over her annoyance at her—well, Stray Dog’s — orders not being carried out in that instant, “Why aren’t you cleaning the animal cages? You know…” Wendy lowered her voice, feigning concern and fear; “Your princess would be terribly upset if Stray Dog decided to take you away from me…”
“P-Princess!” Susan stammered and jumped up off the grass beside the stack of cages, trying to curtsy but falling over. Wendy suppressed an eye roll. Honestly, the child was worse than a boy. “Well Princess Wendy…I…I think I’ve been good and I’ve been working really hard and doing everything you say Mr. Stray Dog is telling me to do and every day I hope for presents but he never gives anyone anything and I wonder if he even cares about us or if he’s even real because we’re all really good and Meg says her and Diana are wondering the same thing and I don’t want to do this anyway because it’s a yucky job!” Susan panted slightly after her hasty explanation, eyeing her Princess fearfully, too young to know when to say nothing, but old enough to understand when to be afraid of crossing a misunderstood line.
Wendy froze the kind, concerned look on her face even though she was seeing red after this ignorant child had DARED to question the validity of her orders. She clasped her hands behind her back so no one would see how tightly they were clenched around each other.
“I assure you,” she began, keeping the rough edge of anger away from her voice, “that Stray Dog IS indeed real, and I don’t think he will be pleased with this conduct.” She shook her head sadly, acting the part of the sad, helpless little girl. “No, no, not pleased at all. So terribly sorry, Susan.”
“B-But, Princess Wendy!” the brunette began again, fright in her eyes, and that wretched stutter of hers coming back, “we’ve all done everything he’s asked of us, but no one’s got nothing! We—”
“Now, now, Susan,” Wendy said with a calm air she did not quite feel, “How about this? I will go investigate these occurrences tomorrow. I’m sure if you do your work now, he will look over such gross disrespect. He might even bring you a little something as well.”
Susan sniffed, fear of what this fabled dog would do to her and Wendy’s promise of a gift causing her to all at once begin to cry and abruptly stop. She looked up to her liege with wondering brown eyes, “Really? T…Tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes, tomorrow!” Wendy replied, trying not to sound impatient, “I will personally see to it everyone gets what they deserve. Now, don’t you have work to do?”
So now, here she was, tramping through the forest like some common beggar just to sate the children’s need for Stray Dog’s approval. If it was just Susan, she needn’t have worried; who cared what such a lowly child thought? But she had mentioned Meg had agreed…and there was a problem, and with Diana, even more so. Susan couldn’t gather followers herself, but the two aristocrats had influence. Whoever young Margaret couldn’t sway with her intelligence Diana could easily persuade with her charisma. There was a reason they were both in the upper class, after all. Wendy wasn’t stupid, and she knew both would be needed to stay on her side.
Clothes torn and dirty, and with a matching mood, Wendy made her way to the clearing of roses she had found years ago, long before the Aristocrat Club had ever been formed. Despite her frail appearance, the lonely Princess knew her way to the rose-covered path like the back of her hand. It didn’t mean she enjoyed the trek, but she had no worries of getting lost.
She sidled between trees and stepped daintily onto a beaten path. The sides would have been covered in roses, had the November air been warm enough to nurture them. Wendy smiled at the memory of the trail during summer despite herself; the site of the abundance of that fragrant red flower always did that to her. She walked quickly –not running of course, how entirely like a tomboy—toward her destination, humming her own little song just for the occasion.
"Monday's pea was a sight to see."
"Tuesday's pea almost made it free."
"Wednesday's pea didn't think to flee."
"Stray Dog will have his peas..."
Wendy loved roses. It was why she named her Aristocrat Club rules after these flowers. Surely such a regal cause would need a regal blossom. She walked along the worn road, pulling a bloom here, another there, making a lovely bouquet just for herself. She smiled at the bright vibrancy of the roses, so different from her own pale skin and hair. The bundle of flowers she was holding had gotten rather large by the time she had reached that strange man’s house.
As always, she looked curiously at the ramshackle building, but something –some strange clench of fear she never quite understood— always held her back from venturing any further.
However, despite her fear, she was not expecting the horror that manifested itself right before her eyes.
She jumped in surprise as the door suddenly slammed open and a young boy in black shorts and a white top flew out the opening. He stumbled, fell, and scrambled to his feet in record speed. His dark hair was mussed and his eyes were wild with terror as they locked on to the confused, frightened girl holding flowers.
Wendy backed away fearfully as this strange, haggard-looking little boy staggered toward her, the panic etched in his face making him seem like a wild animal that had just escaped from too small a cage.
“Please,” he said, grabbing at the front of her blouse and missing as Wendy continued to back away from his grasp, “Please!” he began again, a desperate sense of urgency making its way into his voice, the green ribbon around his throat swinging clumsily “You have to help me, this…this man is crazy! I’ve been locked in the basement for days and I’ve just managed to escape because the door wasn’t locked all the way and gave out when I tried opening it oh please I want to go home someone is buried in his back yard please don’t let him catch me don’t let him—”
A dark shape dashed out of the door from the house, out of the ruined porch, and down the short path past the old fence with inhuman speed as he clamped a hand firmly around the boy’s mouth and tightened the other limb around the child’s waist. The boy’s eyes bulged in alarm as he let out a muffled scream against the grimy fist.
“Joshua,” the rugged-looking man said slowly with a deep, husky voice. Wendy shivered and a cold feeling gripped the pit of her stomach. There was no sanity in that voice.
“…You know better than to run off like that.” The voice was monotonous, almost mechanical; no emotion dared to show itself in the face of such madness. “Horrible things are out there. Horrible people.” He let go of the boy’s mouth and proceeded to pick him up as is he was nothing more than a rag doll. “I don’t want to do this but you must understand. You must be disciplined.” The older man walked slowly toward the back of his house, the child in his arms screaming uncontrollably as his own sanity began to snap.
This mysterious, frightening man was unresponsive to the child’s screams of please, PLEASE, no, I don’t want to die; he only continued walking toward the side of the house, to a place where the rotting walls obscured poor, frightened Wendy’s vision.
With his free hand, he reached into a trouser pocket hidden by his long grey overcoat. The sun caught a glint of silver before he and the terrified child disappeared behind the wooden walls and green brush, a feel of foreboding filling the empty space.
Was…was that a gun?
A sharp crack echoed throughout the warm summer air and the screaming abruptly stopped. Wendy, shaken and terrified, felt her vision cloud as she struggled to hold on to consciousness. No…she couldn’t faint here, what if that man caught her? The chirping birds and rustling leaves sounded so strange now… each individual sound seemed to be slowing down and resonating off the air. She felt herself beginning to fall…down, down, down…
Ouch!
The thorns of the dangerous bouquet had finally pierced through the sensitive palms of her hands with her ever-tightening grip. Wendy jerked back to reality, dropping the flowers with her sudden pain. Before she could nurse her wounds she heard a recent voice emerging from the source of the shot.
“Stray Dog walks the street each day,” he said in the same monotonous voice, a new, reddish-brown liquid spattering and staining the front of his coat, “Collecting the peas as he walks to and fro; Big peas, little peas, every which kind of pea.” Wendy knew she should run, but she remembered how quickly he soared out of that house to capture that poor, unlucky boy, and the thought froze her to the ground.
“Come Monday, he finds a pea. Come Tuesday, he bags the pea…” he walked slowly toward a small shack to the left, close to Wendy, too close.
“Come Wednesday, he shows the pea to his son. Come Thursday, the pea kicks and screams…” he broke off his morbid chant to look up at the young girl staring at him with wide, brown eyes. Abandoning his former target, he chose to hobble to this new child instead.
Wendy opened her mouth to scream, but her voice choked; all that happened was an opening and closing of her jaw, unable to force a sound out. The large man stopped a few feet away from her and only looked, the harsh lines of his face refusing to relent. Wendy didn’t dare move.
After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke.
“Hello, little girl,” he said soullessly, “Have you come to play with Joshua? I’m afraid he’s ill right now. Terribly sorry. Let me give you something for your trouble. Please wait right there.” He turned and began walking toward the tin shed again, picking up on his chant.
“Come Friday, he grinds up the pea. Come Saturday, he buries the pea outside; the pea is in the ground…” he disappeared in the shed, emerging a moment later with a shovel and something enclosed in his fist. He walked back toward Wendy, coming a great deal closer than he had done earlier.
“Hold out your hand, child, here’s something nice for you.” Trembling, the young Princess cupped her hands and held them out, afraid to disobey this man. He stared at the drops of blood forming from her fingers and looked down at the pile of roses at her feet before lifting his balled fist and opening it slightly above her palms, letting the candy and cookies spill out into her waiting hands.
“Do be careful when picking those roses,” he said, turning his back to her and walking back to his house, apparently forgoing whatever he may have used that shovel for, “Even the most lovely flower has its dirty little secret.” With that, it seemed as if Wendy no longer existed in his world, he walked up the porch stairs, finishing his strange story as he left her behind.
“And by Sunday, it can't be found. Good night, young pea… Good night, young pea.”
The door shut behind him.
Wendy ran, forgetting the flowers, absently clutching the sweets to her chest. But even in her fear, the devious part of her mind was already forming a wonderful story to tell the others. A wonderful, horrible story about the one only known as Stray Dog, who rewarded those who were good and punished the lazy, disobedient children without a second thought.
Yes, that would make a wonderful story indeed.
Wendy stood fearlessly in front of that same house, waiting for her Stray Dog to appear. It didn’t take long. The mysterious man, his clothes covered in dirt and grass and a shovel once again enclosed in his hand, emerged from the side of his house and walked toward her.
“Hello, little girl,” he greeted again, “You must be here to play with Joshua. He’s in his room right now. He’s not feeling very well. You must be disappointed to have come so far. Help yourself to some sweets before you go.” He gestured to the tin shed he had disappeared into the last time she had came over and walked back to wherever he had came from, leaving the scheming Princess to her own devices.
She walked toward the hut he had shown her, absently glancing at the mailbox as she passed. Gregory M. Wilson. Ah, so that was his name. She continued to approach the small shack and opened the door with a clatter. The sweet, doughy smell filled her nose as she stepped in. She made a makeshift basket with her apron, pulling the soft biscuits off their trays and dropping them into her lap. She supposed two or three pieces each would be enough to satisfy them. Luckily, there weren’t too many children she had to convince. She tugged at the strings behind her back and the covering cloth slid from her shoulders as she put the ends together to form a sack in order to carry her prizes.
Feeling rather pleased with herself, Wendy stepped outside into the open air. Victory was sweet. She could almost hear music…
Wait.
She was hearing music. Well, humming anyway.
It wasn’t the coarse, cold edge of Mr. Gregory M. Wilson either, but a sweet, soft sound only an innocent child could pull off. Enchanted and curious, she took a tentative step to her left, where it seemed as if the gentle sound, so out of place in a territory where Wendy had only seen death and madness, was slightly louder. Still holding the apron sack in her hands, she followed the notes of high and low, making her way further toward the fabled back of the house.
The song was clear as a bell now, but still Wendy could not place its location. She looked around in confusion, looking everywhere, left, right, up, down…
Ah!
A small, rectangular window opened slightly to the cold air that spoke of almost winter. Wendy supposed it was to air out the basement. And behind that pane of glass and wood…
Was a boy.
For a moment, Wendy had thought that the child had been all right after all. He did have on the same clothes. But upon closer inspection, this obviously was not the same child. His hair was smooth and clean, and a light brown color as opposed to the darker tresses of the former boy. This one also had a smaller build; one more delicate than any other boy she had seen before. He held a small teddy bear to his chest as he paced around the room for lack of anything else to amuse himself. The subtle tune that was being sung below this mysterious, new boy’s breath drifted off as he looked up to see what had caused such a shadow in the window. He had such lovely, hazel eyes. Wendy suddenly felt rather warm in spite of the frigid air of England in November, with a not-altogether-unpleasant pang in her chest at the sight of this calm, unafraid child with his fair and beautiful face.
He only stared at the dazed young Princess for a moment, before smiling uncertainly and raising his hand in acknowledgement. Wendy returned the gesture, feeling as if the world had ended and only left her and this strange, unearthly youth behind the window.
“Joshua…”
Oh, blast.
Wendy started before gathering her apron and running off, not wanting Gregory M. Wilson to know she had found his precious son. Of course, this must be Joshua. Forgetting about her regality for the moment, she took off as fast as she could, away from the window and toward the pathway leading back to her home and her subjects.
Even so, she wished she could have stayed with him. Already, her mind was composing a letter, a way for them to converse without either of them being put in danger.
“To Mr. Joshua, the bear in distress…”
As the Princess continued to dash through the path of dead roses, she couldn’t help but notice that the sky seemed a little brighter.
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Wow, I actually finished it. Surprise!
I like the idea for this…not so much the execution. The ending seems way too rushed, and I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry this is mostly made of flashbacks. I’m sensitive when it comes to criticism, but I’ll be more than happy to have some help in editing this. Anyway, thank you for reading it, and I really don’t know why it’s so long but that’s just how it happened. @_@ You should see my attempts at actual plot. XD Oh yes, and I had to edit because a reread made me realize how many typos and redundant words it had.
So…hope you enjoyed it…I’m going to go hide and work up my courage to come back and read any reviews people may have put up on this. *RUN*
It was fun to write.
and the only way i can ever feel whole again is MORE CARMI FICS.
