writingworldly_7

Gray spirals of raindrops spatter across the ground; sending crisp and bewitchingly cold heavy drops splashing up onto my legs.
Twirling around; searching, I look past the dry oaks, but only see more trees.
I’m standing in a meadow surrounded by bare and neglected trees, with only the dim gray clouds that stretches over the sky as my light.
I look down at my hands, lifting my pale fingers upward, cupping my hands, allowing water to fill within.
As it begins to fill, the water turns to ice. Sharp specks of the shrill surface cut into my palm; drilling through the skin. I drop my hands to my side; the glass like object fell to the sandy dirt, and shattered.
A squeal escape through my pale lips, and I jump backwards. I immediately look at my hands. They are pierced with small indents; spitting out dabs of blood.
I wince, shock runs through my blue eyes, turning them as white as a crystal lake.
Hallow winds push pass me. My hair tousles over my shoulder. I feel my face turn ghastly pale as the crisp, harsh wind pelts ice drops into my neck and cheeks.
More wind swallows me. As if in a vortex, the wind swirls around me. My arms leave the security and warmth of my sides as I turn sharply.
A figure appears through the smog. The figure is draped in a long white cape, the figure moves closer. Its steps echo faintly; clasping on the mud creased ground and then rise back into the air to continue the process.
“Waverly, you’ve come.” The voice was feminine, which lightly echoes across the lifeless ground.
My brow furrows, “I didn’t have much of a choice.” My voice is seldom and crisp, though inside I feel shaken and small.
Her slim and pale hands appear from inside the long sleeves of the cape, and she pushes back her hood; revealing a vivid act of beauty.
She has wild yet smooth thin dark brown hair that falls down to her shoulders; curling around her face. She has rosy red lips that are threatening yet gentle at the same time. Somehow she reminds me of Snow White, except she doesn’t seem as timid.
She looks from side to side, “We don’t have much time.” Her voice rings with urgency.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound more confident then I feel.
Her pale eyes meet mine. A grim expression falls across her face as she searches my gaze. “You are in danger.”
“Why should I trust you?” I took a step back as she took a step forward. My long under dress runs over the oozing ground.
She tilts her head, “Why shouldn’t you.”
I stop, watching her every move. “Why don’t we have much time?” my own soft voice answers her.
“They’re coming,” She replies, “Beware of those with the sign of fire.”
Another veil of wind pushes through us. Within the harsh ice, a shape appeared through the fog. It was sharp and acute, with only a red ring around it to truly show it was fire.
The symbol looks more like a mountain in my opinion but I still shake my head in confusion, “I still don’t understand.”
The enchantress smiles warmly, “You will soon.”
I turn to face the symbol, just as the flames grew around the ring. It erupts; bringing heat against my skin.
It burns tightly, as I was forced backwards.
As I regained my balance I look up. Through the oak trees I could see the white cape flowing out behind one of the large trunks.
“Wait!” I call out to her, reaching out my arm.
I began to force my through the heat, but soon I was falling. I am falling through nothing, but still wavering under the intense flames.




“Waverly, Waverly, are you alright?” the concerned voice of my grandmother enters my conscious.
I open my eyes in an instant, lifting my body out of the tangled sheets that is wrapped tightly around my legs and waist.
My temporary bedroom is spinning as I look around. Pearls of sweat run down the back of my neck as my vision clears.
I look to my right. Kneeling at the edge of my bed is my grandmother, Gloria Zander. She held my hand within hers, as she caught my gaze.
“Are you alright?” she repeats. Her chocolate brown eyes search mine.
My eyes are wide as I watch my grandma, “Yes, I’m fine.” I manage to cough out. I raise my arm, and push back a damp strand of my dark hair back behind my ear.
Gloria didn’t budge. “You didn’t sound it.” She told me.
A small but unnoticeable frown forms at the edges of my mouth.
“I’m sorry I woke you up.” I try to cover the panic in my voice, “I just had a bad dream.”
Gloria looks at me, but realizes that I’m not going to open any more, at least right then. “Alright, try to get some sleep.” She stands up, “We’ll talk tomorrow, then?”
I nod, “Tomorrow.” I say even though I didn’t really care what I was saying; as long as I was left alone.
I lean my head back down on the soft pillow. It was now cool from the electrical ceiling fan that was circulating the air from the center of the ceiling.
Once I hear the soft thud of my grandmother shutting her bedroom door, I slip out of bed, unraveling the soft blankets that binds me from moving.
The electric fan hovers over my head, swishing cool air onto my neck. I reach the door, and push my hand down the wall; stopping the fan from it’s circular movements.
My head pounds; intense beats that cloud my eyes and way of thinking.
Across the room is a large glass window. Strands of lace sewn together stand guard at the cool surface; seeing that only the moon can look inside.
I begin my way towards it. My bare feet touch the cool hard wooden floor, but I hardly feel it. The glow runs up my legs, twisting the cool temperature around my hot body.
My legs are weak, they feel like jelly. I stumble slightly, over nothing, and finally come to the window.
I grip the wooden chair that is standing in front of it, and gently plop down in it.
I leaned against the cool glass, pushing my hand up the mist filled surface and then running the moist drops over my neck.
My gaze moves from the window to the telescope that is sitting beside my chair. The black tall telescope is the only modern material I have in the guest room. Besides the fan and lights my entire room reflects on my upbringing.
I raise my arm, and push back the lace curtain. The navy clear sky is full of twinkling stars. The moon, a crescent moon, gleams into my bedroom; spraying my face with the magical glow.
I lazily rest my forehead against the glass. My eyelids lower and I begin to fall into a light sleep.
Suddenly a movement catches my gaze. I look up, seeing only the front yard of my grandparents’ house. I look around, and spot him.
My brow furrows. There is a man standing outside my grandparents house!
Suddenly the thought of my dream disappears from my mind, as I watch the man step onto the sidewalk and stand in front of the house. He’s wearing a dark suite, with a black tie that falls across his chest.
I blink hard, but only saw him studying the house. He seems to be looking for something, something that someone else wouldn’t notice.
His face is clouded, and covered by a black hat that sits on the brim of his head.
I am now sitting on the edge of my seat; trying to search the man’s face, but there is nothing familiar about this man, or the gadget he pulls out of his pocket.
He holds it up, and after pressing a small button on the side it flashes and then he pushes it back into his pocket as if that weren’t anything unusual.
I watch him turn to the left, and suddenly another man, dressed more casual, walks over to him.
They seem to be having a conversation.
I put my hand on the glass, and push it up.
The window only lifts an inch, but somehow they heard, and are turning sharply towards the house.
I drop down to the floor; hoping that my grandparents didn’t hear. Then after a significant amount of time passes I look up, only to see that they are gone.
Irritated and a bit disappointed I walk back over to my bed. The covers seem to have put themselves back in order, which would have confused anyone except me.
I slip into the covers, and lean my head back against the pillow. At my feet, Socrates, my silver and gray husky, rests his head on my feet, and then I can feel him fall back to sleep, for his breathing becomes more soft.
Who were those men? Is the thought I fall to sleep to. My eyes waver, and I feel myself slipping.
Suddenly sleep comes and I lye motionless in the dark room.

__________________
"There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott." - from "The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Phouka

I'm a rank beginner as a writer, so take all of these with a grain of salt!

I like the imagery in the first scene, but some of your word choices threw me out of the narrative (shrill surface of ice, a figure appears through the smog, my voice is seldom and crisp, etc.) and I found some of the vocabulary to be slightly off -- tousle, indents, elecitrical. YOu captured the idea of wind and cold very well.

I always find reading present tense to be difficult, but you do it well except for a few lapses (the voice was feminine, as the flames grew around the ring, It burns tightly, as I was forced backwards.As I regained my balance, and a number of others. Occassionally you fall into past tense, which is jarring.

I assume this is a part of a larger story, since you interject characters into the narrative (such as your dog) who have no real purpose there, except perhaps to link to the story. Why is Waverly unsurprised that the covers are in order? I don't see the setting here -- I assume that the world (modern, fantasy, sci-fi) is set up in other scenes?

There are some punctuation and spelling issues, but I'm sure you'll catch all those.