Lily Anna Ames (ames_baby) wrote in writermoms,
Lily Anna Ames

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Intro/NaNoWriMo attempt

Hi everyone! I'm new to the group. I don't know if this place is still active but I felt like dropping by and saying hello and sharing. :) I know how difficult some things seem when you have your kids running around taking up most of your time. A little about myself: I'm 20, a mom to a rambunctious little girl named Lily who turns one the day after Christmas, and am a SAHM as well as a MK beauty consultant and a less than pert-time writer.

I started writing this for NaNoWriMo this year, but I couldn't keep up. Being a new mom can be stressful as you girls know. Lily is now just turning one next month and it still gets some getting used to. :) This is as far as I've gotten, and as great as it is that I finally started another novel after finishing up The Edge of Innocence earlier this year (my other work), I still have HUGE gaps in this one and a very long way to go. Just felt like sharing - large gaps in the storyline and all...

The lights are dim.
There is no one here who can hear me.
I hear the sounds of the animals outside.
There is a cat, grey in color, with slanty-yellow eyes, which sits and waits on the back porch.
Sometimes he taps on the glass door and mews to come inside.
I do not let him.
He is a stranger here.

When I was a small girl,
I read the fairy tales my mother told me.
I would sit up late at night under the covers and turn the pages,
balancing a flashlight between my knees.
I would lose myself in those stories.
I was Cinderella.
But instead of evil stepsisters and stepmother and fairy godmother,
I had an evil stepfather and a Goddess for a mother.
I was Snow White.
Condemned by a murderish parent.
Lost in the woods,
Saved by sweet lonely men who all they really wanted was a child of their own.
I was Rapunzel.
Damned in a tower,
Never to see the outside world.
I was Briar Rose,
Your sleeping beauty.
I am not sleeping,
Will you not wake me?
I have seemed to have lost myself in my dreams.
I am Tinker Bell because faeries eventually die and new fairies are reborn in the laughter of children.
I am Star.
I am just an average girl with too small breasts, too full lips,
A broken heart, and shattered dreams.
There was nothing special about me.
Nothing magical.
Nothing at all.

My mother was a Goddess.
She had curls of gold and vivid green eyes.
Her skin was like fragile porcelain and soft as silk.
She was the color of freshly poured milk and her voice was always a sweet song.
My father was a handsome man.
The Horned God.
He was brown, with chocolate eyes, and gentle tight curls.
Soft like a lamb.
He was a strong man.
A wonderful man.
He died when I was small.
I don't remember him much anymore.
I try to hold the memories tight,
squeeze them as if they were in my hands.
They are like sand and seep between my fingers.
Now I have the stepfather.
The evil man who I know took my father away.
The huntsman who tries to murder me in the woods to cut out my heart.
The wicked sorcerer who has locked me in the tower.
The demon that creeps into my room at night and slowly steals my innocence away.

When I was still a toddler, my father died. He died from a cancer that had eaten him alive and had left my mother and me alone to fend for ourselves. My mother had never known such a life. She was a golden beauty who had lived a rich life. Her parents had cherished her and lavished her with everything her heart desired. She met my father and they fell in love. They married young, and my mother left the life of a princess in her parents' house to the life of a queen with my father. She knew no other way but to be pampered, adored, loved, cherished. My father was a slave to her beauty. They soon created a life that they could share their dreams with. My mother gave birth under the dark and moonless sky. She looked at my dark soft hair, my dusty tanned skin, and my radiant green eyes then looked up at the sky. She named me Star saying that they sparkled not only in the sky but shone brightly in my eyes.
    Soon after my father died my mother met a man. He was not like my father but I didn't expect him to be. I was completely shocked on just how different from my father he was, however. She only knew him for a month, but my mother married him. She did not want to suffer the life of a lonely widow. She did not know how to live a life alone. She couldn't survive without the attention, without a touch at night. At first things seemed normal. I could tell he adored my mother, but I didn't know if he truly loved her. Days would pass and all that happened were that he would kiss my mother in the morning after breakfast, pat my hair, and say goodbye to leave for work. Weeks passed and it stayed the same. Soon months, years. After a while he was becoming impatient and crude. My mother was still naive, still needing, like a child. He started coming home later and later in the evening smelling of smoke and liquor. His face puffy, sallow; his eyes rimmed in red. I knew something was wrong. He came home late one evening. We had already eaten dinner and my mother and I were sitting in the living room. I was playing on the floor with a doll making her reenact a scene from Snow White. Making my doll run and escape from the huntsman who was ordered to kill her. My mother sat in a lounge chair, her hair resting on one shoulder and her legs tucked under her as she read a romance novel under the light of a floor lamp. He slammed the door as he came in murmuring loudly about one thing or another. My mother and I looked up. He had begun to speak more loudly. I turned to look at my mother; her large green eyes were stricken with fear. I took it as a sign and grabbed my things, quickly, quietly, and scurried down the hall to my room. Shutting the door behind me I could hear him yelling. My mother had begun crying and speaking and none of her words were audible over the thunder clap of his voice.
    That night I lay awake in bed clutching my doll, holding her close. I could hear the snores of my stepfather through the walls and the silent crying of my mother. This was only the beginning.

I dreamt of you.
You came riding on a white horse to come and save me.
I let down my long hair for you to climb but it was not long enough.
You called out to me.
I cried and hid back in the tower.

    As another year passed my body began changing. I was feeling awkward and moody and I asked my mother what was happening to me. You are becoming a woman, she said. I don't want to be a woman, I told her. I want to be a little girl forever. I want to be like Peter Pan and Wendy. I want to be Tinker Bell. My mother just stroked my hair. Sweetheart, she said, even at the end Wendy grows up and Tinker Bell dies.
    That is when he started coming into my room at night. When my mother slept, he would quietly open the door to my bedroom in the dark hours of the morning. I would wake and lay there, stiff from fright. I could hear his footsteps getting closer to the bed and I would shut my eyes tight praying and pleading that this was only a bad dream. It wasn't, and I didn't know how to escape it. I was only nine. I did not know what to do. Every night it was the same. The same quite creak of the hinges; the soft landing of footsteps. In my head, these noises where louder than they appeared. In my head I was trapped in a glass coffin waiting for someone to wake me. All I could do was keep my eyes shut tight, and cling to my covers and clothing. Pray for daylight. Pray for salvation.

I love my mother, but I cannot stay here.
I am older now.
Wiser in a way.
I cannot stay here.
He still comes into my room at night.
There is nothing left for him to take anymore.
I am empty.
He has taken my soul.
My mother.
So beautiful.
So oblivious.
So naive.
I cannot leave her but I must.
I must find you.
I must run away into the forest and die just to be reborn again in your kiss.
To reawaken with your touch.
I must lose myself so that I may find you.

He came into my room every night for years. This is only to teach you, he whispered in my ear. You will need to know how to please a lover properly. I would just whimper in reply. I am only a child, I said to myself. I do not need to please anyone...
I was thirteen now and my body was thin and frail. I had stopped eating, hoping that my mother would notice, waiting for her to ask me if anything was wrong. She never did. She would just watch me, tell me I was too thin. Please take another bite of your food, she'd beg. One more, please. I would take one more bite and nothing more.
    I would go to school every day just to skip classes and get high. A handful of girls and I would walk right off the campus and into a desolate neighborhood to light a joint and share. Heather, an awkward girl with squinty eyes and acne scars dug through her backpack and tossed a pack of cigarettes at me. I rummaged in my pocket and handed her three dollars. Her mother would buy her cigarettes. I'd buy them off of her. The girls would argue on the length of time they were using on the one joint they shared. It's puff-puff-pass. Not puff-puff-puff, one said. We all need to take our time, said another. Can I just finish my turn in peace, asked the girl with the joint. Heather and I each lit a cigarette and walked on quietly not listening to anything the world had to offer.
    At the end of the year we moved. I found a better paying job in the south, I heard my stepfather say one night to my mother. We can buy a house there and will be making more money. I then heard my mother laugh with delight and I knew she had leaned to hug and kiss him. I heard the chair shift under her weight. We were leaving the cold of the midwest and heading south. Maybe I would find you there, I thought to myself. Maybe you could save me.

"...Just as little red-hood entered the wood, a wolf met her.  Red-hood did not know what a wicked creature he was,and was not at all afraid of him. "Good-day, little red-hood," said he.
"Thank you kindly, wolf."
"Whither away so early, little red-hood?"
"To my grandmother's."
"What have you got in your apron?"
"Cake and wine.  Yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to have something good, to make her stronger."
"Where does your grandmother live, little red-hood?"
"A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood.  Her house stands under the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below.  You surely must know it," replied little red-hood. The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature.  What a nice plump mouthful, she will be better to eat than the old woman."

Even though we moved to a different place, the only thing that had changed was the scenery. My mother was still the same. He was still the same. He didn't stop. The wolf kept coming into my room every night. This is only to teach you, he kept saying. This is only to teach you. I had lost too much weight by then and he slowly decreased from coming to my room every night. He would still come. He would still 'teach me', but I was no longer what he wanted. I was too thin, too physically fragile. My hipbones stuck out from my jeans. You could count each single rib in my chest. I hid behind large boy's clothing. I felt dirty and used. I did not want to wear the pretty dresses of princesses anymore. I was no princess. I was a slave, a servant girl to my stepfather's desire. There was no prince charming here. I was still searching for you. Still waiting. You were not here, but I knew you would come. Just wait.
    One night I woke up from a terrible nightmare. My nightmare was of you. You had died and never found me. I was left alone. I woke up in tears. That night I couldn't take it anymore. My mind was losing its frip with reality. I was soon bound to snap. So I got up and ran to the bathroom. I took my razor and broke the plastic so I could remove the blades. I needed to breathe. I needed to let go. I took the blades in one hand and threw the destroyed plastic handle in the trash. Lifting up my nightgown, I turned the back of my leg, placed a blade against the top of my calf and drew along the top in one quick swipe. I finally exhaled when I saw the thick line of red. I could finally breathe.
    High school started and I thought I could find you there.

[insert more storyline here]

He never said sorry. He never felt regret. He was only a coward.

[insert more storyline here]

You found me on the beach, naked, covered in sand.
I knew you.
I opened my mouth to speak but no words would come.
I could not tell you that I knew you,
That I loved you.
For months I tried to show you.
I wanted you to hear me say the words.
But no words would come.
Alas, you never knew.
You never knew me.
You found another.
One who could tell you she loved you,
One who could speak words that I couldn't.
I took your knife and stabbed it into my heart and jumped back into the ocean where I came from.

[insert more storyline here]

Tomorrow we will go to the Golden Gate Bridge. There you will very slowly lifted a leg  and drap it over the safety rail. You will climb over and lean against the railing. I will look around and do the same. Standing next to you I will take your hand into mine and hold it tight. You will look at me and smile. I will lean and gave you one last kiss. With one last breath you and I will lean foward and fall into the deep blue heaven below.

This is only a document to prove that I was here.


San Francisco Herald
Girl and Boy Found in Pacific After Jump from Golden Gate Bridge

John Kroontje, Herald Staff Writer

Wednesday, November 1, 2005
 The bodies of two young people were found last night in the Pacific. According to identification from wallets left on the bridge, a witness, and a cabdriver, the two adults were identified as Star Elizabeth Knight (18) and Michael Jay Anderson (21), both from Weatherford, Texas.

Star Knight and her boyfriend Michael Anderson called Yellow Cab on her cell phone Halloween morning, and arranged for a taxi to fetch them at 9 a.m. at the Holiday Inn Express on Hayley Street. A taxi was waiting out front. They told the driver they wanted to go to the aquarium in San Francisco. He told them that would cost about $135. Star pulled out a wad of cash, flashed it at the driver and both she and her boyfriend hopped into the backseat.

The driver asked how old they were and where they came from. Star said that she was 18 while Michael was 21, that they were tourists from Texas and had come to see the sights. They talked along the way about all the beauty they had seen and all the places they had visited. About an hour later, they drove south across the Golden Gate Bridge. Just past the toll plaza on the San Francisco side, Star asked the driver to pull over so she could use the public bathroom. When she came back out, Michael got out of the car and she told the driver that they were going to walk the rest of the way. OK, he said. They owed him $128. She gave him $140 and told him to keep the change. The cabbie turned around and headed north, back across the bridge. He saw Star and Michael in his rearview mirror, walking north, back onto the span. That's odd, he thought, then went on his way, his mind filled with other matters. Walking along the east sidewalk, Star smiled as she passed a bridge worker who'd said hello and Michael waved. They both stopped near a lamppost, laid their wallets on the ground, climbed onto the railing and plunged to their deaths.

Autopsy reports state that the two young lovers died a very quick, yet gruesome, death. Their bodies were knocked unconcious while their internal organs were crushed; similar to suffering a fatal car crash. On another note, not much was found in their hotel room. Reports state that all that was left was their breakfasts before their outing, very little clothing, and a spiral notebook that Star had written her life story in.

Still working on those large stoyline gaps.... Any one else doing NaNoWriMo?

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