Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Charlotte Lusk and the unfortunate incident of being thought up by me

Pratting about on Facebook, I came across a draft-note.
Luke, my friend and fellow circus freak had asked me to send it to him after he'd asked me about one of my characters.
This is the best I can do, writing wise. Makes me sad.

The chains clinked together as I was dragged forwards, both those restraining my hands and the one connected to a collar that was placed around my neck. My neck, of all things. Surely these people knew the apparent reason as to why they were taking me away or, at least, they had seen the bruising around my neck. Not only did it hurt to be dragged along in a manner which resembled far too closely my supposed crime, but I felt degraded to the level of an animal. Was it necessary for me to be tied in chains? Did they fear that I would escape and, god forbid, try to hang myself again? Did they think that, given half the chance, I would turn on them and attack like some rabid dog? They think too much of themselves. I wasn’t going to waste my strength on them. There was only one thing on my mind. Revenge.
I was violently jerked forwards and tripped. Small, sharp stones cut into my knees. I struggled to right myself as it turns out exceedingly difficult to push oneself back to one’s feet with wrists that could move no less than a few inches apart and even less so from your waist. My neck-chain was tugged sharply, pulling my head up out of the dirt. An angry face glared down at me.
“Get up, Wolfe.” He said, his voice filled with disgust.
My eyes widened. Wolfe? What lies had she told these people? I dared not ask, but from that one word, I knew she had made up her own story, giving me the name from mine. I could not help but cry and my tears stung the gashes upon my left cheek as I forced myself to my feet. I would not give these people and, since this was all her doing, Elisa, the satisfaction of letting them believe I was weak. I was not going to suffer for their enjoyment.

I hate that I can create characters and have them live their lives seamlessly inside my head, but I cannot for the life of me get it down in words.


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October Wolfe
Jester of Misfortune.
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