The exercise:
Let's go with: the queen.
Had a quiet day around these parts. Tomorrow we prepare for our final market of the season; have to admit I'm really looking forward to it. So far the forecast is looking pretty reasonable for Saturday, so I'm just hoping it stays that way.
Mine:
She sat inside, warmed by the roaring fire in the hearth, and glared at the Grand Balcony. The wind swept, slick with pounding rain, miserable Grand Balcony. Her chief advisor lurked out of sight but not, unfortunately, out of mind. She was quite certain he was prepared to drag her out there if she didn't go willingly.
Another heavy sigh, one more longing look at the fire, and she rose gracefully to her full height. After briefly considering lighting the hem of her gown on fire for warmth, she made her way outside. Her chief advisor's sigh of relief could be heard throughout the castle.
"Good afternoon, my lovely subjects," she called down to the gathered bedraggled masses. They looked up in eager anticipation. "Terribly sorry to keep you waiting since dawn, but I was hoping the sun would find the strength to drive these clouds away."
She paused for a moment, trying to discover which one of her treasured subjects was allowing his or her teeth to chatter so loudly while she was speaking. But there were so many of them, and they all looked the same, really, and the rain crashing down all around her made it far too difficult. She would let it pass then, this one time.
Have fun at the market tomorrow! Your queen is a difficult creature, isn't she? She reminds me somewhat of the managing director here....
ReplyDeleteA small thought that struck me as I was reading: in the second paragraph she rises "gracefully to her full height," which has left me wondering what height she normally rises to :)
Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, I had a NaNoWriMo reminder email recently, though again there's too much work piled up for me to attempt it I think. Are you entering for a third win?
The Queen
"Your majesty," says the maid,
Crouching fearfully by the door.
The Queen turns red-rimmed eyes to her,
Glares with the force of a thousand suns,
And reaches for the poker.
The maid flees, slippered feet noiseless
On ancient, freezing, weathered stones.
The Queen returns to her task by the fire,
Of not crying, not crying at all.
Outside the castle, soldiers march back,
But she cannot bring herself to go out.
What if the news this time is bad?
What if her son has failed to come home?
The Queen
ReplyDeleteThe queen is visiting this week, it’s true! She flew in on Friday, whizzed round to see the Opera House that looks like a bunch of shells thrown down on the ground, got there via the big, steel bridge they call the coat hanger, came back through the tunnel under the harbour, flew up to the sunshine state for a spot of tea and cucumber sandwiches because there’s not much else to do there if you don't surf or swim, ducked down south to the cultural city just in time to miss the football final but just in time to back a horse in a famous race - maybe her stallion will win...?
Then it’s across to gov house to see the PM, though an interpreter might be needed to translate her accent ’cause HM might not understand even though the PM is actually her country(wo)man by birth...phew!
All in a week’s work for the queen of this nation...
Unless, one day, we become a republic...
interesting blog
ReplyDeleteGreg - her non-full height is kind of a stooped, crone look :P
ReplyDeleteI'm skipping NaNo this year. I've already got two stories sitting waiting to be edited, along with the 60,000 word partial story from last November. If I keep writing new stories nothing will come of any of them, I figured.
Great scene. Particularly liked her returning to her task of 'not crying, not crying at all'.
World of Exp. - that last line manages to completely change the tone of the whole piece. Very effective!
Scottish Writer - thank you! Feel free to share you take on one of the prompts :)