Sunday, 1 July 2012

Short Story | Before the Dawn | Circa 2005

I was cleaning out some storages boxes the other day and came across a personal gold mine. A box full of note pads and school jotters that I hadn't seen for years. They contain my teenage creativity. Some of which is admittedly cringe worthy, but I wanted to share some of my favourite completed pieces and develop some idea a little further.

This short story was written whilst listening to Before the Dawn by Evanescence on repeat. I was 15 at the time and Evanescence was my obsession (and Kate Bush but that's another story). This piece actually rescued my Engilsh portfolio which is why I wanted to share it first. I copied it straight from my English jotter and I kept this as true to the original as possible. There are moments that don't flow well and pointless desciption, I may develop this further. 
I left my group to walk in the glen, as long as I was back before dawn they wouldn't care. I walked away from the tents and out through the gate, I wouldn't go very far off.
There was a wide open glen. It was mostly downhill from the gate. The setting sun lit up the hill side, the grass almost yellow as it shook in the wind. 
I ;ay on the ground and close my eyes. I could smell the heather down by the river and hear the water rushing over the rocks.  The warmth of the sun began to fade from my skin as I opened my eyes.
I got up and walked down the hillside. I had never been this close to the river; I still thought I would get back before dawn. The grass was quite short here, by the river side.
I sat down on the rocky river back and looked behind me. The campsite could hardly be seen from here. I'd stay a while, and then I'd go back.
The last of the sun's glow began to disappear, leaving a ribbon of crimson light floating on the water's surface. Opposite the sun, the night mist began to roll in. I walked along the water's edge, foolishly in to the mist.
I felt beautiful, with the water droplets fresh on my face. I imagined I was cloaked in Victorian elegance, like Kathy lost on the moors.
The mist began fog, and soon became too thick to see through. I began to leave and head back to camp before I was beaten by the tide.
I slipped. I had one right in to weed covered rocks and hit my head. Soon I couldn't see, soon I couldn't breathe.
As the fog became mist and the mist began to lift, the last stars looked beautiful on the rising waters of my bed, giving way to the morning sun.
Before the dawn I lived, by the dawn I died.

 I loved to know what you think and I'd appriciate any critique. Also let me know if you'd like to see more of this style of post.

Love and Bugs

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