Saturday, 26 June 2010
On Corests and Contact Lenses
Deleted due to a change of heart....wait doesn't that imply that I own one of those?
Friday, 4 June 2010
Aurora
I do not write very often, but this is one I wrote about 3 years ago, just found it and thought I would share my warped imagination.
Aurora’s sleep.
Aurora went to Mr. Linden’s house almost every day after school to help him clean his house. As well as a small wage, Mr. Linden allowed Aurora to borrow books from his library. On this particular day she was looking for a very particular book, which her mother had always joked about, saying that it was her story. For Aurora was named after a princess in a fairy tale, and as it was her sixteenth birthday on the next day she had decided to read her story for the first time in her life. She stepped into the library and was instantly engulfed by the familiar and comforting musty smell of old books. The light was dim as always, to protect the books. Mr. Linden prized himself on his care for the books he owned. The room had not been dusted, as she suspected it had not for over a decade. The dust hung thick in the air, which was barely thin enough to breathe, but it comforted Aurora. She was always much more at ease among stories full of magic and wonder then with people from the world that created her retreats.
She eventually found the book. It was old, but surprisingly it looked as if it had never been read. The pages were stiff and had no creases on them; the only thing that gave away its age was the yellow tinge around the edges of the paper. She went to tell Mr. Linden which book she was taking.
When she showed him the book a strange look passed over the old mans face, almost a look of worry, “Are you sure about that Aurora? It is not often people want to read their own story.”
“It’s not my story, look: she is called Talia, that’s not my name,” joked Aurora.
“Yes, but in later versions Talia was given her daughter’s name, Aurora, and that is the Talia you where named after, but you are all the same person,” he could tell Aurora thought that he was just joking and let her go, hoping that his words would remain with her.
She left his house and the air around her changed immediately, from the stuffy atmosphere of the old man’s home to the cold, fresh air of the world outside. It was late so she hurried back home. Escaping the black night that danced and surrounded her, cloaking her in darkness as she ran towards the light and shelter of her own house.
After a hurried supper she rushed upstairs. She dived into her bed after getting changed, trying to escape the coldness that had seeped into her room through the window that had been open for most of the day. She picked the book up from her bedside table and started to read. It began as all fairy tales appear to, with ‘Once upon a time’.
Whenever she read a book, she always imagined herself as one of the characters, but with this book it was different; she did not need to pretend. For as she read the words seemed to come out of the book, surrounding her in their familiarity. It was as if she already knew the story, even though she had never read it before or seen the films or ballet based on it. The words seemed to want her to be in the book with them, to be part of the story alongside its inhabitants. She was not just masquerading as a character, she was one.
Time passed but Aurora did not notice, her story was consuming her and she let it. Before she knew it the church bell rang midnight, twelve muffled rings. Only then did she pause. Sixteen. Now she was sixteen, and almost at the same time, the princess in the book turned the same age. She turned the page and a small but sudden pain ran from her finger, she looked at the hurt and saw blood, only a small droplet though. She put the cut in her mouth, washing the blood away.
It was only then that she realised how tired she was, it was as if weights had been attached to her eyelashes, forcing her to close her eyes. Her arm was too tired to hold the book and it fell onto her bed, open. When she closed her eyes it was hard to open them again, almost like they had been glued tightly shut.
Aurora was so tired she did not notice the leaves brushing her cut finger. Did not notice the vines creeping from the page of the book, stealing over her body. She gave up trying to stay awake. As her eyes closed for the last time she remembered what Mr. Linden had said, ‘you are all the same person’. She remembered the curse put on Talia as a baby, and of the good fairy who changed the curse from death to sleep.
Her story had caught up with her, and had taken control. Even as her breathing slowed to that of a deep sleep, the plant growing from the binding of the book grew thorns. Her whole room was turned into a brier patch. Small roses bloomed, bright red against the dark browns and greens of the roots. Leaving the sleeping Talia stuck, asleep for a hundred years to come. Locked in her room, awaiting her prince charming. Mr. Linden had tried to warn her about the book. Now it was too late and Aurora had fallen into a story she had not realised she had spent her whole life trying to escape.
Aurora woke to sunlight playing on her eyelids. She put her hand out trying to find her book, but instead she felt someone taking her hand and holding it. She opened her eyes; she was looking into the face of a strange boy, a little older than herself and very good looking. He was wearing strange clothes, and a smile dancing around his lips as he raised her hand to meet them.
Talia meanwhile woke to find herself alone in a strange room. Definitely not the tower she remembered. On the bed beside her, lay a dieing rose and an open book.
I would put the picture which inspired this story up, but I can't find it.
Aurora’s sleep.
Aurora went to Mr. Linden’s house almost every day after school to help him clean his house. As well as a small wage, Mr. Linden allowed Aurora to borrow books from his library. On this particular day she was looking for a very particular book, which her mother had always joked about, saying that it was her story. For Aurora was named after a princess in a fairy tale, and as it was her sixteenth birthday on the next day she had decided to read her story for the first time in her life. She stepped into the library and was instantly engulfed by the familiar and comforting musty smell of old books. The light was dim as always, to protect the books. Mr. Linden prized himself on his care for the books he owned. The room had not been dusted, as she suspected it had not for over a decade. The dust hung thick in the air, which was barely thin enough to breathe, but it comforted Aurora. She was always much more at ease among stories full of magic and wonder then with people from the world that created her retreats.
She eventually found the book. It was old, but surprisingly it looked as if it had never been read. The pages were stiff and had no creases on them; the only thing that gave away its age was the yellow tinge around the edges of the paper. She went to tell Mr. Linden which book she was taking.
When she showed him the book a strange look passed over the old mans face, almost a look of worry, “Are you sure about that Aurora? It is not often people want to read their own story.”
“It’s not my story, look: she is called Talia, that’s not my name,” joked Aurora.
“Yes, but in later versions Talia was given her daughter’s name, Aurora, and that is the Talia you where named after, but you are all the same person,” he could tell Aurora thought that he was just joking and let her go, hoping that his words would remain with her.
She left his house and the air around her changed immediately, from the stuffy atmosphere of the old man’s home to the cold, fresh air of the world outside. It was late so she hurried back home. Escaping the black night that danced and surrounded her, cloaking her in darkness as she ran towards the light and shelter of her own house.
After a hurried supper she rushed upstairs. She dived into her bed after getting changed, trying to escape the coldness that had seeped into her room through the window that had been open for most of the day. She picked the book up from her bedside table and started to read. It began as all fairy tales appear to, with ‘Once upon a time’.
Whenever she read a book, she always imagined herself as one of the characters, but with this book it was different; she did not need to pretend. For as she read the words seemed to come out of the book, surrounding her in their familiarity. It was as if she already knew the story, even though she had never read it before or seen the films or ballet based on it. The words seemed to want her to be in the book with them, to be part of the story alongside its inhabitants. She was not just masquerading as a character, she was one.
Time passed but Aurora did not notice, her story was consuming her and she let it. Before she knew it the church bell rang midnight, twelve muffled rings. Only then did she pause. Sixteen. Now she was sixteen, and almost at the same time, the princess in the book turned the same age. She turned the page and a small but sudden pain ran from her finger, she looked at the hurt and saw blood, only a small droplet though. She put the cut in her mouth, washing the blood away.
It was only then that she realised how tired she was, it was as if weights had been attached to her eyelashes, forcing her to close her eyes. Her arm was too tired to hold the book and it fell onto her bed, open. When she closed her eyes it was hard to open them again, almost like they had been glued tightly shut.
Aurora was so tired she did not notice the leaves brushing her cut finger. Did not notice the vines creeping from the page of the book, stealing over her body. She gave up trying to stay awake. As her eyes closed for the last time she remembered what Mr. Linden had said, ‘you are all the same person’. She remembered the curse put on Talia as a baby, and of the good fairy who changed the curse from death to sleep.
Her story had caught up with her, and had taken control. Even as her breathing slowed to that of a deep sleep, the plant growing from the binding of the book grew thorns. Her whole room was turned into a brier patch. Small roses bloomed, bright red against the dark browns and greens of the roots. Leaving the sleeping Talia stuck, asleep for a hundred years to come. Locked in her room, awaiting her prince charming. Mr. Linden had tried to warn her about the book. Now it was too late and Aurora had fallen into a story she had not realised she had spent her whole life trying to escape.
Aurora woke to sunlight playing on her eyelids. She put her hand out trying to find her book, but instead she felt someone taking her hand and holding it. She opened her eyes; she was looking into the face of a strange boy, a little older than herself and very good looking. He was wearing strange clothes, and a smile dancing around his lips as he raised her hand to meet them.
Talia meanwhile woke to find herself alone in a strange room. Definitely not the tower she remembered. On the bed beside her, lay a dieing rose and an open book.
I would put the picture which inspired this story up, but I can't find it.
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