General Art The Window

[Firice da Vinci]

Okay, so, I like writing, but I rarely ever do it. I wrote this as a draft about two months ago out of boredom at school. I finished the revision process today and wanted to share it here. This is technically the prologue, but I have no clue if this will ever progress beyond that. I accept both critique and hate mail.
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The Window - Prologue

I stare out this window everyday. My sanity would have been lost a long time ago without, for this window is life. The glass is calmness. My medicine is the transparency. It is...necessary.

This frame shows me so much;so little. In the morning, I see birds. Beautifully white birds, they are. Not flawed white, like my old T-shirt and unbleached molars. This white is pure; clean; holy. The way it glistens in the sunlight is near too glorious to gaze upon, shattering the oppressed and desolate world that encases the feathered, forcing them to breathe our breaths. I wish the birds would bestow to me their grace; to allow me to transcend beyond my cage of a room. I yearn for them, I weep for them, and I reach for them, all in vain. Silent tears are not meant to be heard.

During the day, people pass by in a variety of ways: bikes, cars, feet, trucks, and ambulances. Many an ambulance. All on their way in life, to somewhere they desire to be—away from a domain such as this. Well, except for that one time. Yes, there was a time a ball came by, striped with yellow and blue, yet it lacked a person. Instead, a bear danced on top. The pictures were nothing compared to the actual spectacle. Big, brown, and fuzzy, this animal was, guided by men wearing the most whimsical of attires. I wonder if that coat was warm and tender, like a bed. A true bed, not mine.

Nary an event comes about at sunset. The majority of the populace have returned to the homes from whence they woke and to whatever family they have with ever beating blood. The wealthy might even enjoy a plate of dinner. I imagine them laughing, passing old porcelain dishes, summing up their daily lives around a homemade tablecloth, openly expressing whatever increments of delight they can muster. Then when the brilliant rays from the world's star are precisely angled, my daydream evanesces. The only thing before me is the reflection of a child's face. One that has been dirtied, sleepless, alone; ravaged by hunger. No tears. Only distant eyes.

Night is the emptiest, for nothing is there. My window screens the oblivion that surrounds the late hours. And, perhaps for the worst, the world is ever persevering.

 

[Firice da Vinci]

I decided to finish this, so I made a plot chart that's missing the falling action, drafted Ch 1, finalized some of it, ate some Ramen noodles, and finished it. this story might turn PG-13 at some point, but I'd say The Window is PG for now.

The Window - Chapter 1


“Oi, Qui! Please come out of your room soon. Do you really want to miss the rations again? They already get delivered less and less.” continued Sister Abigail.

How long was she to continue this pitiful struggle? Minute have converted to hours. The darkness has vanished,the rising star's beams piercing through my transparent glass. Even so, the youngest of the Family is still calling out to me. If only I knew why. It it possible for a stranger to care so deeply for one who is destined for the worst?

“I'm begging you here! Go downstairs for five minutes! Or...maybe...I could...just give you my helping?” the Sister pleaded. Was her voice beginning to crack?

From my window, I turned my head toward the door. Ravaged by age and termites. Abigail was no weak woman; a good ram or two would remove myself of any privacy. The incessant knocking affects it not.

“Just give it up already, Abby. Father would never allow his frail little daughter to starve over some pathetic mongrel. Besides, you know just as well as I do that the runt is too busy daydreaming about suicide to eat.” Madeline. The eldest and most discourteous of the Sisters. “No one is more worthy of death than that–”

“Bite your tongue!” Something that sounded like a slap reverberated into my room. Hopefully, it made contact with the more unsavory visitor in the duo. “No one in this orphanage is passing on to Mother's realm anytime soon! And especially not Qui!”

There was a timeless silence. I could feel the hatred building up in Madeline's stout face. She must have been overly pampered as Father's first born, judging from her despicable aura. Before the Decimation, everything a young girl could have ever wanted was sewn into the silks of her life: wealth, decadent desserts, a maid assimilated to serve or be beaten, the most handsome of courtiers, and the ability to attain any desire. All that is left now is a bitter spirit and a failing body. I guess that goes to show you how sins catch up to the sinner.

On the other side of the spectrum lies Sister Abigail. A true follower of Mother's teachings: prays thrice a day, forgives and forgets, gives to those less fortunate, and preaches at a nearby Crib every Thursday and religious holiday. Even in her mid-thirties, faith has permitted her to look years younger, healthy, and beaming.

As instructed, Abigail does not tolerate the breaking of principles that all Children must follow. The third of which states that on should, “Never wish Ill-Will upon a sibling.” Needless to say, Madeline and Abigail clash their ideals together on a daily basis, willing to lose the tug-of-war. The oldest Sister always gets in the last words before smugly walking away (any activity more strenuous cannot be accomplished in her weakening condition). This time, they were,”I hope you understand that those without tongues cannot be granted Shelter after death. Silent Qui...is a waste of an existence.”

Though crude, Madeline said my inescapable fate: Annihilation.

 

[Doc]

Your writing is impressive, I have to say. You use such a wide vocabulary of words and use a poetic tone that is very rarely seen in recent years. It is sophisticated and a more fluid than many works nowadays.

I must critique that you, in the prologue at least, avoided the use of commas. In some cases it can be interchanged with a semi-colon or period, but I think you may have taken it too far to the point where commas were rare.

I look forward to more and good luck with your story

 

[Firice da Vinci]

Thank you for the input, Dr Horrible. I usually use more conjunctions than I used in the Prologue, so my brain thought I needed semicolons to mix it up. Noticed that during editing, but I decided to roll with it. I have a natural affinity toward that tone, plus I had read the unabridged version of Jane Eyre around the time, so it was fresh on the mind.
~
Why did I want to write two chapters in one day, again? Anyway the plot is turning out a little differently than I planned it to, but I digress. Should be interesting to write.

The Window - Chapter 2

They stared at me; ocular devices fastened onto a singularity. Why was this? I merely opened the door. I typical occurrence for a person, correct? The entry was not even locked. Had Sister Abigail not attempted the use of the handle?

I took a couple cautious steps forward and, before the situation could be analyzed, two arms ringed around my vessel. The kinder of the Sisters had me in her cozy embrace. The shock on my face lasted for no longer than one second, yet Madeline found enough time to examine my countenance. The bewildered expression of hers was substituted for a smirk. Malicious.

On the verge of joyful tears, Abigail reestablished my attention. “Oi! Thank you so much for refusing to throw in the towel,”she squealed, as though I was the one doing the safeguarding. “Come on now. Oi, I'm sure the life will spring back into you once some food gets back into your system, Qui!”

With that, she grasped my hand and guided us toward the stairs, yet the reasoning behind Abigail's actions accumulated the miniscule amounts of logic. Acts like this were fathomable to conduct decades ago, when humanity lived peacefully. In desperate times like this, the death of a person means more food for the people. Then again, this Sister was a incredulously loyal Child. Would religion alone be enough to push Abigail this far? None of the principles acknowledges the need to go through such lengths for one as Forsaken as I. The heart in my chest is lessening in vitality and the mind succumbs with it. Every fragment of my being shall soon be Annihilated, along with those in analogous circumstances. Crumbs from a few morsels are no remedies for transgression. Why is Madeline not a prime example. Wait, Madeline!

Realization. My legs ceased at the very thought of the Forsaken beast.

“Qui? Oi, are you not hungry anymore or something?” questioned Abigail.

Unable to speak, I resumed the brief journey back down to the first tier, dressing my partner in delight. “Oi! Yes, that's the spirit!” she cheered on.

Abigail did not notice that I scanned the vicinity we departed from. Sister Madeline had remained there. Her demeanor was more terrifying than the prior instance: mouth slightly open, eyes glowing with interest, raised were the thinly plucked eyebrows. The drool and heinous laughter were simply waiting in the most simplest of ways to yoke with the blend of aspects.

I never saw or heard anything, If Madeline lost it on the level above me, there was no way to detect it. The sounds of starving youth scrambling for nourishment was all to be heard. Even thinking was difficult.

However, a curious thought ran the brain: Is there something about me that separates my body from the trash to the gems?

 

[Firice da Vinci]

I can't even guess how long this is going to last. I guessing more than ten chapters, less than thirty. Hey, that's just like Animes!

The Window - Chapter 3


There were an innumerable amount of children amassed in the lobby. We were by no means suffocated, as the orphanage's architecture was based off of Father's mansion. Sister Madeline once commenced a rumor that lavish nude statues and elaborate ruggings were replaced planked doused in mold and mildew. The motive? To alter to ambiance from regal to “homely” for the sake of the peasants.

Everyone that collected themselves under this roof could be considered uncultured, I suppose. Only a fragment of us can recall our homeland and progenitors. The rest are unreliable narrators; bits of details are there, however, the bulk are either scarring or trivial. A scare quantity of us can vividly acknowledge the years prior, not that the power is much of an asset. Being a rare sample from the third branch, my flashbacks feel more kin to burdens.

The effects of a person's tales on their present is tremendous, but I digress.

Sister Abigail liberated our fins, entwined for hardly even a minute. My head tilted diagonally toward hers. Fear. Uneasiness. These riddled the holy Child. Why was her lower lip tucked in and quivering? Did a puppeteer dance with his invisible strings to cause the twitching seen on those delicate extremities of hers? A seizure inducing her is doubtful, for an individual trained have inspiring faith knows not of susceptibility to maladies.

Suddenly, Sister Abigail shook her skull back from whatever cosmos it had taken root in–whilst emitting her trademark Oi–and composed. Timidly, her gaze met mine. 'Twas mighty somber, right then. She bent both knees to match my abbreviated height. Abigail's left fist extended, nigh to my face.

“Here,” the Sister breathed with a mildly seducing air.

Her fingers unraveled to expose a black necklace. “Take it.”

The object was alluring. Awesome, even, though it had a reminiscent disposition. Had we crossed paths before? Time passed before I accepted to offering.

Effervescent for another time, Abigail clasped her shut shut, gave an affirming chuckle and grin, and vanished up the stairway; all before uttering a single word.

“Godspeed.”

 

[Firice da Vinci]

Yeah, this story is heading in all kinds of directions. I feel like I am losing control of the plot. Why am I enjoying this?

The Window - Chapter Four



The line for rations stretched on and and on like the wastelands that found themselves among this land after the Decimation. One step, no progress. The disorienting part was that we remained orderly and straight. How could this calmness exist among desolation? Was there no point to struggle against fate or had Mother's righteousness instilled her way into into the citizens?

I took advantage of the time to analyze Sister Abigail's “endowment.” The chain of the necklace was finely crafted; no amateur artisan could have wound it around itself to create the intricate design. Nary a person alive was so so skilled at the art in this ending era. Speckled with rust, the archaic glamor was further enhanced. A matte onyx-shaded mineral was attached to the work. The pigments were harmonious with the tone, yes, but the substances were contradicting. The article of jewelery exhibited many qualities reminiscent of cast iron. This, on the other hand, was a soft, delicate accessory. I could easily shatter in my weakened state. With a dab of the finger, a chalky residue was left behind. I raised the necklace toward a candle set aflame to receive the optimal view.

“I wouldn't go flashing my valuables around like that,” warned the boy behind me. To maintain the awkward order, I wrapped the gift back where it was.

After an hour of repetitious quiescence, rumors began to leak from the line's ultimate destination. Did you hear? They ran out of stock! How are we to eat?I bet you that they are greedy, plain and simple. Hogging every last bite for their own self-centered survival. Terrible excuses for Children, those lot. Rounding us up to die like this...

That was when the line ceased.