I thought I would try something different to start. There you go.
Today, as you can tell by the title, I am doing my NaNoWriMo wrap up. I haven't done terribly well. In total I wrote... wait for it... a whopping 3322 words. Not very much at all. I do however plan on carrying on with this book and maybe by next year's NaNoWriMo I might have finished it. Probably not though.
On a positive note I enjoyed myself which is what NaNoWriMo is all about. I wasn't in it to really seriously write a novel worth publishing. I was in it to enjoy writing and to have fun. I achieved those goals completely.
Without further ado, here is my (part of a) novel.
The Life of Death
Chapter 1
Rosanna watched the waves wash over the sandy shores of the
beach. Seawater buried the dunes in swirls of foam, then ran away again,
returning to the safety of the deep blue depths. She wriggled her toes in the
sand one last time before putting her shoes back on, leaning against a lamppost
so she didn’t fall over. It was late evening, and the last rays of sunlight and
pink tinted clouds were being lost to the darkness.
She trudged up the steps, out into the clamouring, cobbled
street once again. Market stalls selling vibrantly coloured fruits and
vegetables, aromatic herbs, spices, and fine cloths were scattered around the
statue in the centre of the square. It was a depiction of some wartime military
officer, standing tall and proud with a rifle slung over his shoulder and
striped medals hanging from his lapel. A few stray cats ambled around,
searching for food dropped by restaurant patrons. Rosanna carried on across the
square and through the archway at the other side. Her bag was heavy, and she
wanted to get home before it got dark. Hauling her load down the streets of
Lisbon she finally stopped in front of a house and dropped her bags down on the
front step. My goodness that weighed a tonne! The house was white with a red
tiled roof and green clapboard shutters, the colour of spring leaves. The
window panes were painted navy blue, with lilac and deep purple flowers
artfully painted creeping up the walls. She knocked on the door. A gruff voice
shouted from inside “I’m coming!” Eventually there was the sound of the bolt
being pulled back and creaking hinges as the door opened. An old man stood
before her, with fine silvery hair and a stubbly beard. He had striking blue
eyes, that were crisp like ice water and wrinkled with age. On his person was a
white shirt tucked into some jeans that looked as if they have seen better
days. “I must remember to oil that door!” Mateus exclaimed.
“How are you Papa?” asked Rosanna.
“I’m doing fine Rosa, come in before the cold kills me,”
said Mateus kindly.
Rosanna stepped into the house, dropping her bag with a jerk
of her arm onto the floor. “I got what you wanted Papa,” she said, turning to
face him.
“Thank you dear, come into the kitchen, Isabel has almost
finished dinner,” he replied. Indeed the scent of lemon and thyme wafted down
the hallway, enticing Rosanna’s empty stomach, which grumbled hungrily. Taking
care to push the bags into a cabinet cupboard so that Isabel wouldn’t see them,
she made her way down the hall to the kitchen at the end. It was homely, with
yellow walls and wooden counters along one wall. A table and four chairs sat in
the centre of the room, scattered with papers, mail and things that were
casually left there and never tidied away. Pots and pans, boxes of herbs,
spices and kitchen utensils covered the work surfaces. In the middle of it all
was Isabel, the housekeeper. She was a middle-aged woman with a kindly face and
big bosom. Her mousy coloured hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and she
wore a striped apron over her sky blue tunic and trousers. “Hello Isabel,” said
Rosanna.
“How are you doing dear?” asked Isabel sweetly.
“I’m good thank you,” Rosanna replied.
“Sit down darling, dinner’s almost ready,” Isabel said.
Rosanna sat in her regular seat on the side of the table.
Mateus shoved all the papers to one side, then joined her, sitting at the head
of the table. They ate quietly, occasionally making polite conversations.
Everyone was hungry, and they never spoke very much at dinner anyway. When they
were finished, Mateus excused himself, wished everyone goodnight and retired to
his bedroom. Rosanna helped Isabel clear the table, washed the dishes and then
retired herself. She picked up her bag on the way to her bedroom.
Chapter 2
Mateus locked the door of the bedroom, then sat down in
front of his desk. It was meticulously organised, with a pile of books and and
a jar of writing pens situated in the corner. He pulled out the contents of the
bag. He carefully laid out the contents. A sketchbook; a feather; some writing
pens and drawing pencils; a stone; some spare change and a floral hair clip.
Covering them with his scarf, he picked up one of them books from the pile on
his desk. Opening it revealed hundreds of lists and signatures, all written in
black ink onto the parchment-like pages. Mateus turned to a new page and took a
pen from the holder. He then wrote down the contents of the bag, a line for
each, inking them fastidiously onto the paper. Underneath that he wrote:
Creator of heaven,
Guardian of stone,
Free like the feather,
In a world of one’s own
Then he signed the page, and closed the book., locking it in
his desk drawer.
----------
Rosanna dumped her bag by her bookshelf and collapsed onto
the bed. It had been a long day. She was tired from collecting things for Papa,
and her feet were sore from walking through the city streets all day. She got
up to put her pajamas on and empty her bag. She opened it, and was confused as
to what was inside. Only then she realised that she’d given the wrong one to
Papa. She grabbed the bag and ran down the hallway. “Papa!” she shouted,
banging on his door.
“I’m coming child,” he replied, sounding slightly annoyed.
The door opened, creaking.
“I gave you the wrong bag!” she explained, panting a little.
Mateus’ face froze.
“Okay dear, thank you,” he whispered quietly, took the bag
from Rosanna and shut the door in her face.
----------
----------
This was bad, this was really, really bad. Mateus flipped
desperately through the pages of his books, trying to find a way to undo what
he had just done. None of them held any clues. This just wasn’t meant to happen
at all. He slumped down in his chair and rested his head in his hands. Running
his hands through his thin silvery hair he sighed. There is no way to reverse a
spell like that. In all his years Mateus had never done anything like this. He
had become careless, hadn’t checked the bag or waited. He was too rushed and
now nothing could be done. You weren’t meant to reincarnate someone with the
soul of a person who is still alive.
Chapter 3
Finn took in his surroundings. He was standing in a square.
It looked like a European city. The streets were cobbled and the square was
encased in sandstone walls. Twinkling lights from restaurants and bars imitated
the stars. A statue sat in the middle of the square; a military officer holding
a rifle. The scents of salt lingering in the crisp night air and the sound of
crashing waves behind him made him turn to face the ocean. It was mysterious
and foreboding in the on-going darkness, no horizon visible.
He had nowhere to go. There was no way of telling where he
was, he wasn’t familiar with European languages, apart from the tiny snippet of
French he knew from school. This definitely wasn’t France anyway. He had no way
of communicating with anyone. No telephone or mobile. No way to send letters, or
any idea who to send them to. Who were his parents? Were they with him in the
crash? Did anyone die? He sank down in despair and sat on the wall facing the
sea. It was late, and he didn’t want to
bother anyone at this hour. “Are you alright young man?” someone asked. Finn
snapped out of his reverie.
A young British couple stood before him, dressed in
dinnerware and obviously on their way to a date. “Yes, I’m quite alright thank
you. Just,” he paused “could you please tell me what country this is?”
The couple looked terribly confused.
“Portugal,” said the man worriedly “Lisbon to be precise.”
“Thank you,” Finn mumbled gratefully, honestly feeling a bit
stupid now.
“Are you sure that you’re alright, there’s nothing we could
do?” asked the lady in her affected British accent, a look of genuine concern
on her face.
“No, I’ll be fine thanks. Goodbye,” he said as walked across
the square and under the arch at the other side. He didn’t know where he was
going, however he didn’t want to the couple to worry about him. He hoped they
had a nice date.
----------
He walked blindly for about an hour, trying to find
somewhere to sleep. He didn’t have any money, so hotels and hostels were out of
the question. Besides, even if he did have money it was to be rationed for essentials
now. There wasn’t any spare. He had spotted an alcove in a wall under the huge
arch, but he had to keep going to get out of the sight of the couple and now he
was lost. The streets were winding and churning, to the point where it seemed
unreal. As he walked he saw fewer and fewer people. No one sane would be still
awake and outside. A drank stumbled along ahead of him, earning a disgusted
look from another man strutting down the road. Finally, he found a walkway
covered by a domed ceiling held up on pillars. There were several alcoves in
the walls. He walked part the way in so as to be protected from the ferocious
night storms of the summer and collapsed into a recess in the wall. He sank
gratefully into a restless slumber, and awoke at first light.
----------
He stayed there for some time after he had woken up.
Enjoying the sound of the early morning hubbub of a city. It made him feel more
at home. Rubbing his eyes, and yawning he sleepily stood, then moaned at his
aching muscles. He had slept awkwardly (holes in a wall aren’t the most
comfortable), and now his neck was sore and tight and his back crooked from
leaning against the pillars. A lady walked past, stopped, took him in and
dropped a euro on the floor in front of him. He hadn’t planned on panhandling.
He had far too much dignity for that however in the startling clearness of the
day he realised his situation. He was in a foreign city with no way to
communicate with the locals, no money, no home, no idea of really who he is or
where he came from, and no means of even trying to get there. He sounded like
he belonged in a mental asylum.
Chapter 4
The harsh bleeping of her alarm jerked Rosanna awake. She
yawned, sat up, and immediately crashed back down again. She felt awful. The
bright light streaming through the gap in the curtains was giving her a
headache, and she had stayed up all night worrying about what was going on with
Papa. Strange noises had been coming from his room all night, thumps and bangs,
occasional curses and sighs and a few frustrated outbursts. She could hear the
creaking floorboards of the kitchen which meant that Isabel was already awake.
Heaven knows what Papa was doing. She groaned and hauled herself off of the
bed. Her head span and he stomach lurched. There was no way she was going to
school today. She stumbled out of her room and down the stairs into the
kitchen. Isabel was in her usual brightly coloured attire, clanging around the
room. She stopped when Rosanna walked in. “Deary me what happened to you?” she
asked, alarmed.
“I don’t feel great. I didn’t sleep very well either,”
Rosanna mumbled.
“You go back to bed,” she ordered “and I will bring you
something to eat.”
Rosanna trudged back up the stairs, thankful that she didn’t
have to do anything. She thought that her knees might buckle at any moment.
Passing Mateus’ room she leaned her ear against the door, listening for any
sign of life. A deep rumbling snoring echoed around the room. She carried on
down the hall to her bedroom, almost falling back into bed in her weariness. The
warmth of the blankets engulfed her, carrying her into a fevered sleep as she
tossed and turned.
----------
When she woke again it was evening, night taking over.
Rosanna sat up. She was ravenous and seeing that Isabel had left her some of
her famous get well soup she dug right in. It was renowned in their family for
making you fell better. The brother warmed her parched throat. Someone knocked
on the door. “Come in,’ she said, words muffled by the food in her mouth.
Isabel opened the door and stepped inside. “How are you feeling dear?” she
asked as she came and sat on the end of Rosanna’s bed. “A bit better,” Rosanna
answered, still shovelling food into her mouth. “Slow down or you’ll be sick,”
scolded Isabel. “Well, sick-er,” she
corrected herself. “I’ll be fine,” said Rosanna. Then she remembered. “Have you
seen Papa at all today?” she asked casually.
“Not very much,” said Isabel, frowning. “He left this
morning with a huge bag and hasn’t been back since. It’s been eight hours.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. He can look after himself. He is a big
boy you know,” Rosanna jested.
“I know,” Isabel laughed. “Finish your soup,” she said, and
left the room.
Rosanna ate greedily, dipping bread into her soup and
gnawing on the crusts. Mateus’ recent behaviour troubled her, and she was’nt
sure exactly why. He did things like this all the time. Maybe he was out for so
long because he was going to ask her to go out but she was ill so she couldn’t.
Maybe it was an especially important trip. Who knows. He’ll probably be back
later anyway. The worrying made her tired again, so she pulled the covers right
up to he chin and tried to sleep. After about an hour she gave up, and decided
instead to go and see if Papa was home yet.
Chapter 5
It was dark already and Finn hadn’t made much progress. He
had spent the day wandering around the city, begging on street corners. So far
he had a sum total of four euros. Not very much at all. He was hungry and
tired. His bones and muscles were screaming at him that he had to sleep, but
his stomach prevented him from doing so. He had to find some food. After what
seemed like hours, he found the remains of a meal on a restaurant table, and
snatched some bread and pizza. “Oi!” shouted a furious voice from behind him.
Instantly, he took off. Running through the streets as fast as he could.
Anything for something to eat. Footsteps echoed against the cobbles, getting
nearer and nearer. He chose paths at random, cutting though side streets and
alleyways. “Come back here you scoundrel!” shouted someone in a Italian accent.
Finn kept running Eventually the noise of clattering feet ceased, and he was
left, alone, with only some bread and pizza. Finn ate greedily, shoving food in
his mouth and only half chewing it, before he reminded himself to slow down. He
didn’t know when his next meal would be. Taking carefully small mouthfuls, he
savoured the food, and shoved some of the bread in his pocket for tomorrow
morning.
----------
There was a kind of whispered shouting coming from the
living room. Rosanna snuck downstairs, being careful to avoid the creaky
floorboards. She could make her way around this house silently blindfolded. The
voices got louder as she got closer to the room, and finally she could make out
the sound of Papa and another man. One she had never heard before. She pressed
her ear against the door, and listened…
“How could you let this happen?” whisper-shouted the man.
“I didn’t think it was possible!” Mateus answered.
“It hasn’t previously been possible but you shouldn’t have
ended up in a situation where you tested that theory!”
“ I was tired and there was a bag of malyes! How was I
supposed to know which ones to use?”
“You should have checked!” shouted the man, raising his
voice.
“But usually when you have malyes and you”
“Rosanna!” scolded Isabel. “What do you think you are
doing?” she asked.
“I… um…” Rosanna stumbled.
“Stop eavesdropping on your grandfather,” she ordered. Then
waited until Rosanna left until she went back to the kitchen. Rosanna went back
up to her bedroom, then sat against here closed door. What on Earth were
‘malyes’? And who was that man that was shouting at Papa? Was this something to
do with his strange behaviour recently? Who knows? She was exhausted, and still
slightly feverish. She curled up on her bed and lay there for a while before
going to sleep.
----------
The next morning Finn woke and ate his hearty breakfast of
stale bread. It was better than nothing. He walked to try and find the seaside
that he saw on his first day. He stopped to ask a local, who stared at him
suspiciously. He waved goodbye and walked on. He found it in the end, and was
comforted by the sound of ocean waves. Sitting on the wall, he stared out over
the great expanse. Rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands, he sighed.
What was he going to do? There was nothing to be done. He might as well become
a seventeen year old hobo. “Are you alright?” asked someone behind him. Someone
sat next to him. A girl, roughly his own age. She had chestnut brown hair and
hazel green eyes. Her face was round and her features soft. Freckles peppered
across her nose and cheeks. He realised he hadn’t answered he question. “Yes,
fine thank you,” he said.
“You don’t look fine,” she insisted.
“You don’t beat around the bush do you?” he asked, slightly
laughing.
“I don’t see any point in it,” she shrugged.
“Huh,” said Finn.
There was an awkward silence. After a few moments she said
“You don’t come from around here do you?”
“No I don’t,” he said, trying to avoid the topic of where he
actually did come from because he didn’t know.
“Where are you from then?” she asked, curiously.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he mumbled.
She looked taken aback. “Come for a walk with me,” she said,
getting up.
“You could be a crazed psycho-killer for all I know,” he
joked warily.
“But I’m not,” she said, and started to walk. He had two
options: a) stay here and mope about not having any idea what to do or b) go
for a walk with a random (however rather pretty) girl. Sighing, he chose option
b and ran to catch up with her. “What’s your name?” she asked when he reached
her.
“Finn,” he said “You?”
“Rosanna,” she answered.
“That’s a nice name,” he ventured.
“Thank you,” she said, with a sweet smile.
----------
They walked for a while, following the seaside path that
curved along the waterfront. Rosanna did more of the talking. She can speak
fluent Portuguese and English, she lives with her grandfather and a
housekeeper. She has been playing violin since she was four and she wants to be
concert performer and a journalist when she leaves school.
Please let me know what you think, and any suggestions for improvement will be helpful.
Emile x
