May. 18, 2009 - Chapter One - Part Two
When I entered the cottage I could hear Mother mumbling and exclaiming up stairs, and things being shoved around. I wondered what the trouble is, even more so when I beheld the scene. The main room was trashed, the chair cushions had been removed, book cases, trunks, drawers all emptied. Things lay scattered across the room in heaps, but my mother was nowhere to be seen.
she was up in my room, I could tell by the noise. I walked slowly up the steps, which creaked under the cat's weight, much less my own.
"who's there?" my mother barked.
"It-it's me, mother," I faltered, coming up and entering my room. My room looked a repeat of the main room. The drawers in my dresser has been pulled out and dumped over the floor, my trunk as well. My bed was stripped down, curtains moved aside, everything. I clutched the red cloak in my hands behind my back, wondering if that could be what she was looking for.
Of course not! That was silly! I chided myself, but still I felt no better.
"What are you doing?" I asked nervously.
"Oh! Just looking for something!" my mother declared cheerily, looking at the mess in the room, "I never was a very neat searcher," she added.
"What are you searching for?"
"A cloak." Her words sent a wave of fear through my body, which, try as I might, I could not ignore.
"What kind of cloak?" I asked wearily.
"A red one, made of a soft, sparkly material," my mother explained, "I thought your grandmother might have given it to you. You haven't seen it, have you?"
I couldn't think of anything to say to this, so instead, I said nothing.
"Have you, Isolda? Isolda?" my mother asked again. I didn't reply.
"Isolda, if you've seen it, or have you, you must give it to me, it is very valuble."
"why?"
"Now deary, never you mind why, just give it to me, please?"
I didn't move.
"Please dear? Please, Isolda?" when I didn't move this time she grabbed my arm, squeezing it tight.
"Isolda! Give me it now!" she hissed, as the pain in my arm grew worse.
"Why? What do you want it for?" I asked, my voice tight from the pain and fear.
"It's none of your business!" she cried, throwing me to the ground several feet away. I landed hard, but not as hard as I would have, had I not landed on several of my dresses that had been dumped from my dresser.
"Where is the cloak??" she demanded, towering over me. I looked desperately for an escape. I don't know why I trusted my grandmother over my mother, they were both acting oddly and out of character, but perhaps it was because my mother was a present threat, and my grandmother wasn't, but when I spied the balcony I jumped up, and rushing out onto it yelled, "Bayard!" and threw the cloak to the ground below.
Bayard had been walking slowly home when I cried, but when he heard me, and saw me standing on the balcony, throwing the red cloak to the ground, my mother angrily tearing after me as I did so, he ran. He ran as fast as he could to where the cloak had landed as my mother ran out of the cottage door, and I scrambled down from the tree growing next to my balcony.
"Bayard run!" I screamed, tearing off behind him, my mother following angrily behind, shouting at us to stop.
My mother was never very fit, and it took very few minutes to out run her, still we ran until we could not anymore, just to be sure. We then slowed down to quick walk, trying to catch out breath.
"What happened back there?" Bayard asked, panting.
"I have no idea," I admitted, "she just went crazy. The whole house was trashed, as if she was looking for something, and she grabbed my arm and threw me to the ground when I would not tell here where the cloak was. I thought of what my grandmother had said, and panicked, so I threw the cloak down to you. But now I think I may have just over reacted, she is under a lot of stress. Maybe I should go talk to her."
But Bayard grabbed my arm, "Isolda you cannot!" he decalred, "we don't know what she would do!"
"She's my mother!" I cried, "Aren't I obligated to give her the benifit of the doubt? I cannot believe that she would purposely hurt me!"
"Why don't we at least take it to Master Gyffard first, and find out what it is?" Bayard suggested.
I sighed and looked away.
"You don't trust my mother?" I asked.
"Well I think we should at least know what it is before we return."
I sighed again, "alright, let's go."
We walked off quickly towards the cave where Master Gyffard lived. It was deep in the forest, the entrance hidden by many trees and bushes of varying sizes, but we knew where it was, we had been here before to get a remidy when one of the little girls in the town had ingested a poisionis plant.
We knocked on the door.
"Master Gyffard? Are you in there?" Bayard called.
"Who goes there?" a deep, rich voice asked from within the cave.
"It's me, Bayard and Isolda is with me."
We could see Master Gyffard now, standing in the shadows, watching us.
"Oh! Bayard! Isolda!" he exclaimed, recognizing us now, "come in, come in!"
We obeyed and stepped into what looked like the well furnished room of a manor, not the inside of a cave. Large richly decorated rugs lay on the floor, with rich cherry-wood tables and tapestry chairs on them.
Master Gyffard was standing up, behind one of the chairs when we entered, but he came forward quickly to greet us.
"Oh how are you two?" he asked, giving me a hug.
"That's why we're here," Bayard answered, never one to beat around the bush when it was something important.
"What's wrong?" Gyffard asked, looking at us closely.
"Isolda has inherited some kind of special cloak, which has had some- interesting results."
"Like what?"
"Well, I inherited it from my insane grandmother," I began, "she told me not to tell my mother, but I took that as just some of her wild talk, and was going to tell my mother anyway. But before I could she, well, she..." I couldn't think of any polite way to say how my mother was behaving.
"She attacked Isolda," Bayard explained for me, "Or nearly, at least. When Isolda wouldn't tell her where the cloak was she grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground. The whole house was trashed, like she had been digging around and looking for something."
"Oh my dear! Are you alright?" Gyffard asked worriedly.
"yes, I'm fine," I assured him.
"And how did you get away?" he asked.
"She threw the cloak down to me and then climbed down the balcony when her mother was distracted," Bayard explained.
"Then we both ran here." I added.
"Master Gyffard, do you think you could tell us what kind of cloak this is?" Bayard asked, handing it to him.
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May. 13, 2009 - Chapter One - Part One
Most everything changes for a reason, and that a useful one. But every now and then one comes across something that changes for no useful purpose, at least not one we can see at the time. That, in short is the story of my cloak. If you wish to hear the story in the long, continue reading.
My name is Isolda Carteret. When my grandmother, Elvira Carteret, passed away, I was just sixteen years old. She had called me to her bedside, and handed me a lightweight cloak. It sparkled in the light, and was made of a soft, almost fluffy cotton, the color of red clay, and had many strands of Ceprian thread woven in with it, which is what made it sparkle so.
"I want you to take this," she instructed me, "take it and throw it in the fire, don't keep it for a second longer than you have to!"
"Why don't you have mother do that?" I argued, frightened. I had never seen my grandmother like this before.
"Because!" she exclaimed wildly, causing me to jump, "Because you must do it! Please! Throw it in the fire, and don't let her see it!"
"Who?" I asked, becoming more frightened as she went on, "mother?"
"Yes! Don't let her see it! Don't let her get it!" she cried, sitting up and taking my hands in hers. I wanted to run out of the room by now, and was just about to when the door suddenly opened, and in but a moment, my grandmother had put the cloak in my hands and pushed them under my black cloak, hidden from my mother who had entered then.
"What is going on here?" she asked, her voice kind and caring, "I heard you getting loud, is something wrong?"
"N-no," my grandmother replied, coughing as she did so.
"Good, I would hate for you to be frightening Isolda so," my mother replied, putting her hands on my shoulders, "come now, Isolda," she instructed, leading me out of the room, "Your father is going to take you home now."
My father and I walked home silently, the sky was grey and over cast, the wind blew strongly, and as I drew my cloak tighter about me, I wrapped my hands about the red one. Thoughts whirled through my head as we walked along, I had never, ever in my entire life seen my grandmother like that before. She had been odd lately, cheery all the time, even when she should have been sad. It was rather erie, really. It wasn't a genuine happy, but an odd, almost forced, childish happy. But this had been entirely different. She was so solemn, so upset.
When we reached the house my father decided to take a walk in the garden, and left me alone in the cottage.
The cottage was not small, but rather large, actually. I wondered into the living room, dropping the red cloak on a chair and looking about at the figurines on the mantle. It was not as if I had never seen them before, on the contrary, I had seen them many times before they had stood there for as long as I could remember. The little one, a girl bending down, picking flowers. The tallest one, a romantic couple standing under a large heart. And all the ones in between, the horses and dogs, more little girls and romantic couples, houses, flowers, there seemed to be everything on that mantle, and I could tell you where everyone was with my eyes closed. But I was board, both my parent's were out of the house, and my mother had given out only maid the day off. I had no chores to do, nothing really to do.
I sat down in the of chair, picking up the cloak again, and fingering it as I wondered what I should do with my time. Then I heard a knock at the door.
I hurried over to the door, carrying the cloak with me, and opened it, found my old friend, Bayard, on the other side of it.
"How is your grandmother doing?" Bayard asked, as I opened the door wider.
"Odd," I replied, wrinkling my brow, "I had the strangest conversation with her today."
"Strange how?"
"It's a long story, want to take a walk?" I asked hopefully. As I said before, I was board, and I wanted to get out.
"I came over to ask you that very question!" he declared, grinning.
I stepped out of the cottage and we started up the wooded path, as I related to Bayard what my grandma had told me.
"Do you still have the cloak?" he asked.
"Yes, I replied," holding it up, "I didn't have a chance to show my mother."
"You would still show your mother after your grandmother's warnings?" Bayard asked.
"Yes, why should I not? My grandmother has hardly been in her right mind these past two weeks, you know."
"Yes, I know, I was just wondering."
"Do you think I shouldn't?"
"No," he replied, though I thought he hesitated, "I was only asking. When will you tell her?"
"As soon as she returns," I told him.
We has circled back to my house by now, and as I looked at the cottage I could see my mother driving the wagon back home.
"I better go," I said sadly.
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Probably, unless something happens with Grandmother."
I hugged him quickly, and ran off, eager to get this story told to my mother, as I didn't know what to think.
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My newest story. Very fantasy, and in first person. I'm going out on a limb here.
*will write a proper summery for it soon*
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