A Child of Two Worlds

It's time for Round Three of the 50 First Lines Challenge.There were three winners of Round 2, and we are to pick one paragraph of those three and write a summary in ten sentences or less of what the story is about. I picked paragraph 2 by 4am Writer:


Nobody wanted to claim the abandoned baby on the hill. Not a single hunter from the King’s clan and not one farmer from the Queen’s clan knelt in admission. That hill, with its concealed scorpion pits and live landmines, was supposed to keep the two clans divided as part of the War treaty. But the baby had all the markings, proof that the hill had been crossed. He had the silvery eyes of the Kings and the ruddy skin of the Queens. His secret will not last long. In time, the family birthmark will bloom. Announcing to which hunter and which farmer the baby truly belonged. And then the spooks will come after them.

And here is my entry:

This is a story about a child growing up in a world divided by war, a world that was torn apart by betrayal. His silvery eyes and ruddy skin clearly show that he is born of both clans, and no one will claim him and admit to a dalliance with the enemy. However, as he comes of age, a birthmark appears on his body, clearly showing which family from each clan he springs from—for everyone in each clan has these birthmarks—and his parents are revealed to be the son of the chief hunter and the daughter of the head farmer. This revelation causes some consternation, and leads to some argument, for both families want to claim the child as their own as he is now displaying talent in the magic of both royal families. The child, now really a young man, was raised by a farmer family who treated him as a servant, and he wants nothing to do with the war or with either royal family, but he wants out of his current situation, so he allows them to fight over him until he cannot take it anymore and he calls up the spooks and sets them on his families. Spooks cannot physically harm anyone, but they are horrifying in aspect, and the superstitious farmers and hunters are terrified of them, and no one has ever been able to call up or control the spooks, so when the young man does this, he immediately has their complete attention. He declares himself the Ruler of both clans, and no one argues.

Weakness

Another fanfic I wrote based off of my favourite line that was in the movies but not in the books.

Weakness

You're the weak one. You've never known love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for you.


The Dark wizard paced up and down the long room, his followers standing back against the ornate walls watching him. He could feel their fear, fear of him, but he ignored them. How dare the boy? How dare he feel sorry for him? It was ridiculous that the child he had orphaned would pity him. As if he were a pitiable figure! He was the greatest wizard alive, and he would soon prove it to all, muggle and wizard alike.


But how had the boy fought him off? No, it couldn't have been the boy; it had to have been a trick. It must have been Dumbledore. The old man was smarter than he looked; he always had been. There was no way a mere child could have forced the Dark Lord out of his head and caused such pain to the invader. At the memory of the agony that possession of the boy had caused him, Voldemort paused and flung out his wand hand at random, casting the cruciatus curse on one of his Death Eaters, inconsiderate of which one he struck. Momentarily distracted from his fury, he watched the masked man convulse in pain.


Call me weak, will you, Harry Potter? He fumed silently. I'll show you. Everything you've been through up until now will seem like a stroll through your puerile Honeydukes compared to what's coming. You will lose everything. And perhaps now was the time to get rid of a certain meddlesome headmaster as well. Voldemort smiled at his followers. Who needed friendship with such devoted slaves? "Lucius," the cold high voice said, "you have a son, don't you? A son who attends Hogwarts?"

David's Lament

I really love the poetic form sonnet, which consists of 14 lines and can be written in stanzas or all together as I have done here. The following is a Shakespearean or English Sonnet of what I imagine King David's feelings were after his rebellious son Absalom was killed while trying to wrest the throne from his father.I'm not sure why I used King James English for this - it just sounded right.
2 Samuel 18:33

David's Lament

My son, my son! Would I had died for thee!
If only I had saved thee from thy pain!
God, if You would, return him and take me--
My life without him is a life in vain.
My son! Why didst thou do this awful thing?
Didst thou not know my love for thee, my son,
Or was it more important to be king?
Now, though thou hast lost and I have won,
I feel that I have lost, and so I weep.
In ashes and sackcloth I clothe myself,
(My sins I sowed, this pain I now do reap)
I tear my hair, I disregard my wealth.
My son, I wish that I had died instead;
If only it was I who'd lost his head...

Never Look Back

I also write fanfiction. Here's an example of something set in the Harry Potter universe:

Never Look Back



Molly Weasley was on her knees scrubbing at the carpet in the living room. In the kitchen, on the stove, a pot of soup was bubbling madly. As it began to boil over, she sat up and pointed her wand at it, lowering the heat enough to stop the imminent mess. Impatiently pushing her hair out of her face, she bent over the spot once more.


"Molly?" a voice behind her said quietly.


She jumped, and put her hand over her heart. "Oh, Arthur, you scared me!"


He knelt beside her and put a hand on her arm. "What are you doing, dear?"


She leaned forward and began scrubbing again. "It's so hard to get blood out of a carpet! I never should have let it dry." Her voice broke.


"Molly." Arthur caught her hand, and turned her to face him. Tears were streaming down her face.


"Oh, Arthur, I'm so scared for them! Why did I let George go like that? And he's probably not the only one that will be hurt, and what will I do if – if –" She broke off with a choked sob. "What if –"


"Sshhh." Arthur pulled her into his arms, and gently rubbed her back as she wept into his shoulder. "George was proud to help Harry, Molly."


"I know, I know. And I would never want Harry hurt, either!" Molly pulled back slightly, and looked up into her husband's eyes. "I wish this stupid war would end! I want all my babies safe."


Arthur wiped the tears from her face with his fingertips. "We all have to do what we can to stop him, dear. For Harry and our boys, that means they'll be in danger, and there's nothing we can do about it."


"I just wish –" Molly cut herself off and straightened her shoulders. "No. No point in wishing. You're right, of course, Arthur. We must do what we can do, and stop worrying at what we can't do anything about." She smiled tremulously at him. "Never look back," she whispered.


Arthur took her hand, and helped her to her feet, and they stood for a moment, wrapped in each others' arms.

Daughter

Written 27 December 2011

He closes the fridge and stares at the picture stuck to the door with a magnetic banana, the milk carton in his hand forgotten. A ten-year-old girl with brown pigtails grins at him from the small photo. Her skinny freckled arms tightly encircle a longsuffering golden retriever's throat; her unselfconscious smile is framed by shiny braces; her clear blue eyes sparkle with joy and life. Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, he reaches out and strokes the glossy print and his eyes burn. For a moment, he tries to hold back the tears -- something from his childhood whispers "big boys don't cry" -- but he is a man now, and besides there is no one around to see the tears that slide silently down his cheeks.