Tales From Camelot

Time beyond time
Brings a tale of fate,
Of passion and love,
Of torture and hate.
Way back in days of old,
Tales are told
Of kings and queens
With crowns of silver and gold,
And the most famous of all,
King Arthur and his lady fair,
Were told of often in story and song.
Guenevere had golden hair,
And skin so pale
It reflected the lovely face of Lady Luna
When the nights grew long
And the silver of the moon
Shone upon the sleeping Camelot.
Arthur himself had a figure Greek,
And many a noblewoman
Strove for just a tiny peek
At the man who was said
To look like a god.
These two ruled Camelot,
And it was a beautiful land of mountain and sod.

Also in Camelot
Were knights so brave
They would cross the widest seas
Or brave the deepest cave
If 'twas the right thing to do.
They occupied a table round,
And kept King Arthur's head from the clouds
And feet on the ground.

Now, stories were writ
Of a forbidden romance between
Arthur's most beloved knight
And Guenevere, his fair unfaithful queen.
Lady queen fell into the eyes
Of Lancelot the brave,
And found it as impossible to climb out
As to return from the grave.
So Arthur arranged
For a joust to occur,
A joust; a good fight
For naught but the heart so pure
Of Guenevere the glorious.
King Arthur won,
As surely you know,
And Lancelot's life was done
As he lay in the arms of his queen.
She wept silent tears,
But cried no cries
To reach Arthur's ears
As his favorite,
His prize,
Died for the right
To stare into the queen's eyes
And feel her touch
Chill him to the bone.

Soon after this joust,
Guenevere's only child was born.
Merlin the magician
Blessed the tiny child
With the beauty of her mother
And a temperament mild,
And he named her Eleanor.
As the babe grew,
Merlin's blessing came to be.
Ev'ry knight and peasant knew
Of the young girl's beauty.
Arthur, fearing for her innocence,
Erected a tower quite high,
And it caused even the bravest knight to grow tense.
Upon completion of the pillar,
The girl's sixteenth year,
Merlin prophesied this:
Eleanor's mother Guenevere
Would not see the girl again,
For when the girl was rescued from tower high
The kingdom would mourn,
For their beloved queen would surely die.

Many a year passed,
And Eleanor's tears watered the ground
As she dreamed of the day
When horses hooves would pound
And a brave knight
Or handsome prince from a far-off land
Would rescue her
And earn her pale hand.
Her mother grew old,
And her father, too,
But still they ruled
Without a clue
That the end of their reign was near.
On the eve of Eleanor's thirtieth year,
She sat in the tower and plaited her hair
When a sound from below reached her ear.
A handsome lad,
Clad all in black,
Was scaling the stone wall
With just a rope and a sword on his back.
He reached the top,
And fell before his bride,
And Eleanor was filled from head to toe
With joy and pride.
Together they climbed down,
And they were married that night.

Guenevere died, as the magician said,
Died in her sleep without a fight,
And, mourning his dreadful loss,
Arthur abandoned his throne
And Camelot's gilded crown
Eleanor called her own.
Then she, too, bore a daughter,
A lovely maid
Who was by the magician
With the name Adelaide.
She was luckier by far, though,
Than her mother Guenevere,
For a son she bore, too,
A prince quite dear,
Named by Merlin
Michael the Bold.
Merlin loved the prince as his own son,
And promised the queen he would not grow cold.

Eleanor wrote and begged
Her father to come.
She attempted to bribe,
Even sending him a large sum.
She prayed he would come and behold
His own flesh and blood,
Play the great role
Of grandfather beloved.
He refused for some time
To leave his country home
And return to court,
Where he'd never be alone.
But, after fifteen long years
Of sorrow and tears,
He came out of hiding
One last time before retiring to his bier.
He traveled alone
With no guard and no sword,
Just a rough woolen cloak
And his kingly words
To keep him safe
From robbers on the way.
The journey was long -
It took many a day -
And as he neared the castle
He stopped to gaze
Upon a maiden fair,
Pacing about in a worried craze.
"My Lord, I am lost,"
She cried out to him,
"I fell in the river;
I could not swim,
And it's carried me too far."
Her voice fell soft
Upon his ear,
As the song of a bird aloft,
And the fire he'd not felt
For many a year
Rekindled him,
And his mind ceased to be clear.
He grabbed the girl
As if he were a young man
And turned away from castle and court,
Suddenly intent upon gaining her hand.
Back to his home
He rode without strife.
Never had he
Felt he had such life
As he did,
Holding her there,
Feeling her breath
And fondling her hair.
He took her
And swiftly laid her in his bed
And made love to her
As though they were wed.
"My beauty, my love,
Tell me your name,
That you may be mine
And I might make right my claim."
She replied,
Lips trembling with fright,
"I am Princess Adelaide,
And you cannot make this right.
My mother is queen of Camelot,
And she will have your head,
Quarter you,
Or perhaps burn you instead."
Then Arthur fell to the ground,
And horror struck his heart
As he realized
Whom he'd just torn apart.
His own grandchild,
The kingdom's heir,
Lay before him,
Her body bare.
He tore his robes,
For he knew what he'd done,
And knew for sure
He'd be quartered or hung
In the square
By his own child,
As, because of his greed,
Adelaide was defiled.
He cried out to God
And begged forgiveness,
But there was no reply,
And he knew he'd not get out of his mess.
He glanced 'round the room,
Avoiding her gaze,
And his eyes fell upon faithful Excalibur,
The sword from his kingly days.
His eyes widened in a wild craze,
And he took his sword from the wall,
Plunged it into his chest,
And to the floor he fell.
Adelaide jumped up with a shriek
And ran from the house with only a sheet
To cover her pale skin
As she ran in her bare feet,
Far away from the place.
'Though her mother worried and feared,
Adelaide would not tell
What caused her flow of tears,
A flow that would not cease.
She did not speak a word,
But rocked and hummed
Like a sweet songbird.
Michael her brother
Loved her dearly,
And longed to avenge her
And bring back her virginity,
But there was nothing to be done.
In nine months time,
She bore a child
And was whisked away that none would know her "crime."
She and the babe
Lived far-off in the north,
And time passed
'Til even she did not remember her worth.
And she spoke not a word
But to call the child to her side,
For the babe was the only soul
Poor Adelaide could abide.

When the child was four,
Adelaide was shocked to hear
From beyond the mountains to the east,
Scottish pipes falling upon her ear.
The tune she knew well,
'Twas the one she sang all day,
And both mother and child waited,
Anxious to see who came their way.

'Twas a Scottish lad
With hair of gold
And beard of red,
Who couldn't have been more than twenty years old.
Adelaide fell to her knees
Before the shocked man
And begged him,
Using only her hands,
To stay for a time.
He was hesitant,
But she persuaded him,
And to the tiny hut they went.
As she prepared bread and ale
For a measly little meal,
He told his tale,
And swore each part was real.
"I am Alistair,
Prince of Scots,
But I've no cause for throne
Or crown, 'though 'tis my lot.
I've run from life,
And am much happier here,
Playing and singing
For God and nature to hear.
I've run from court intrigue,
From prophecies and dreams,
From a place where greed is all that matters,
Or so it seems.
I've also escaped my fate,
For I was promised as a babe
I would wed by twenty,
And in a fortnight is that day."
As he spoke these words,
Adelaide caught his gaze,
And a blush crept into her cheeks,
And she giggled as she'd not done in many days.
Her tongue was loosed,
And she smiled a brilliant smile
As she told her sad tale to him.
It took quite awhile,
And when it was done,
The prince swallowed his pride
And promised to care for her
Until the day he died.
Her sorrow gone,
Adelaide immediately said yes,
Then explained to tiny Arielle
That Alistair would soon be more than a guest.
Then, too, she wrote to the court
And her brother, now king,
Of the miracle of true love,
And how 'twas a wondrous thing.
He begged her to be married at court,
And the couple agreed,
Knowing together they could face all,
The envy, fear, and greed
That was present in Camelot.
They were wed,
And were happier by far
Than any king or queen then dead.

For true love
Can save a life,
Bridge all caverns,
And bear all strife.
It spans he gaps,
Heals the heart,
And creates a bond
That nothing can tear apart.
History doesn't matter,
Only the promises made
To be faithful always
And not be led astray.
Only love and faith
Can make life worth living,
Can make each woman a queen,
Each man a king.

Love is a treasure,
A beautiful thing to behold,
As shows in this tale
Of kings of old.
It is God's blessed gift
To those who stay true,
Faithful to each other,
And to heaven, too.
I pray I can be
As Adelaide became,
Strong, happy, and brave,
Not lost and lame
As those with no love.
God's strength will make it well,
And love will prevail
Past all that seems like hell.
Past all that is gone,
All pain that will be,
True love will last
For all eternity.

On My 17th Birthday

I'm growing up too fast,
Surely it cannot be
I've turned seventeen at last.
It's frightening to me
That I've lost so much time
In those strange, dark corridors
Some call a mind.
I remember, as a child,
I played I was grown-up,
But the games were so mild
Compared to the full cup
I now receive each day.
I wish I'd listened then
To what my mother used to say,
You'll grow old
And wish to be young again,
But I was bold,
And could not imagine a time
When I would want to be small.
But now, once again,
We are past the fall,
And winter is coming fast,
And the day of my birth
Has once more passed
As a day of sorrow and mirth.
I'm happy with what I once wished,
A boy all mine,
(Who gave me a special birthday kiss),
Who I care for a great deal,
But to get here,
Many years life had to steal.
Years of joy and peace,
Playing with dolls
And cooking feasts
For the noblemen in my halls.
Years of laughter,
Prince Charming,
And, of course, "happily ever after."
Years of crushes,
Giggles and fun,
Oh, how they rushed!
I feel I've just begun!
I'm still a child
Within my heart,
Yet I am wild
And goofy...
Almost grown-up,
And yet still me,
Still playing dress-up.
I fear I may never truly grow...
But that's alright by me!
God made me so!

Unexpected Encounter

In my wildest dreams,
I would not have suspected this.
My boyfriend leaves
With a parting kiss,
And I wander around the church,
Singing, of course.
My heels make no sound,
And the soprano notes take no force.
I am carefree,
Or try to be,
But I saw his truck outside,
And fear is gnawing at me.
I don't want to be scared,
So I take a deep breath
And try to calm my nerves -
But I am scared to death.

I think all is well,
As I've yet to see him,
When suddenly I hear
That dreadful voice that makes my head swim.
"Hello, my dear,"
He growls,
And the sound is to me
As frightening as when a lone wolf howls.
I shudder as I turn
To face the man I dread.
I tremble a bit,
And cruelly wish him a blow to the head.
Evil bastard,
I think,
Why can't you just go away,
Instead of driving me to this brink?

"Yes?" I ask instead.
He asks of my shoes,
But I can feel his eyes,
And his intentions are clear beneath his ruse.
He sees me
As only God has seen before,
And, in his perverted mind,
I am no better - or worse - thank a cheap whore.

I'm worth more than this!
I silently shriek.
When I finally escape,
I feel dreadfully weak,
Like one torn apart
By a dreadful storm.
My body feels cold,
Then clammy and warm.
Tears are welling
In my closed eyes,
And I want nothing more
Than for someone to hear my pained cries.
But, alas, I cry to myself.
There is no one nearby
To hold me,
To comfort me as I cry.
We are in God's house,
And most consider the cause of my pain
To be glorious saint,
A pillar without a single stain
On his precious religious record.
But those fools do not know
The things I see,
Nor do they hear as I hear - No,
I'm not free
To do a thing.
For I turn a corner,
And, as if warned by a bird on wing
Of my approach,
He stands and stares
And dreams gross dreams
Of collecting my maiden "wares."
I hate him,
'Though 'tis truly evil,
For he is to me
An incarnation of the devil,
And should be treated as such.
For these thoughts, I myself should be
Condemned to hell
For forever... for an eternity.

So I pray, dear God,
Forgive me!
Surely you know,
Surely you see
Why I feel so horribly
Inclined to curse,
For there are few things
That could be any worse
Than being lusted after
By one's own flesh and blood,
A man you once cared about,
The grandfather you once might've loved.

~ December 3, 2008 ~

Christmas Spirit

Outside, the world is bleak,
There's not a flake of snow on the ground,
But the spirit's the thing we all love,
And you can see it all around.
Christmas carols are everywhere,
And it doesn't matter if you stay on pitch,
Because it's Christmas,
And everyone can sing without a hitch.
I can smell apple pie,
Christmas cookies in the oven,
Snowmen and trees and angels,
Baking by the dozen.
"Merry Christmas, Darling"
Is always in my heart
And I can't wait for the mistletoe
To be hung far above - from it, I'll not part.
In the air,
There's a feeling of joy,
A feeling of peace
For each girl and each boy.
And for those of us who know,
We are grateful for the thing
That, in this season,
Makes us sing.
We know Christ was born
To give us hope of a new day,
When together we will be
Forever and always.
We remember that He,
The Babe and the King,
Is our reason...
The only reason that we sing.

~ December 1, 2008 ~

I Love My Phone

I love my phone,
For when it rings
My heart jumps a million miles,
And I think of things
Precious and sweet
That make my heart melt
And send chills down my spine
Like I never have felt.
I see the name
On the telephone screen
And I let out a shriek,
Like one in a dream.
"Hello?" I coo,
(Or attempt to, anyway),
And he asks, "Are you busy?"
"I'd make time for you any day."
I try to stay calm,
Thoughts compressed and neat,
But I've thrills all over -
From my head to my feet.
I love his dear voice,
And the obnoxious laugh
That makes me giggle a lot,
As though I was daft.
I love when he calls,
For his voice is to me
Like the food of the gods
Surely must be.
Cupid aimed well,
And, try 'though I might,
I cannot easily hide
Or contain my delight.
Thank you, dear Cupid,
For shooting we two.
For a good deal of bliss
Is owed to you.

~ November 30, 2008 ~

Again On His Absense

My heart has gone away,
Far away with him.
A pink dawn begins a new day,
And a red sun lights the sky,
And I lay awake
And think I,
How fares my love?
Does he stay well?
"Car-oo, car-oo," cries a white dove,
And as I glance out my window
(In search of the bird)
I can see the glimmer of snow.
It brushes the sky,
Like a fine, powdery mist
All over - down low and up high.
I think of the fights
In the cold, fresh snow,
And of many cool nights
Made warm because he is near,
Because he gathers me in his arms
And calls me "my dear."
I think of times yet to come
When the pounding of our hearts
Will muffle the world's hum.
I think of these things,
And I smile a bit.
For the song that he sings
In his own whispered words
Is sweeter to me
Than the song of a whole flock of birds.
The words he writes
Bring tears to my eyes
And dreams in the night
Of my darling, my sweet,
Whom God ordained
I should happen to meet.
Fly home, my sweet love,
Fly to me,
Like an angel above.
Hold me near,
My sweet boy,
And whisper things dear.
For I miss your touch,
My heart!
I miss you so much....

~ November 29, 2008 ~

Happy One Month

On the day before Thanksgiving,
Entirely appropriate it is
That many of my thoughts and prayers
Should be his.
Today is a special day,
And I'm remembering times
That will never be forgotten
By my mind.
I remember the night
That we stood outside,
And I worked up the nerve
(At least, I tried)
To give him a kiss.
It was a brief little kiss, so chaste
Despite the solid fact
That for a kiss he'd not asked.

And I remember a bit later,
Exactly a week,
That we again stood together,
And I felt shy and meek
With his arm around me
As he whispered tenderly
And I giggled a lot
And tried not to be weak at the knees.
He touched my face,
And his lips touched mine
In a kiss that was brief,
Yet oh-so divine.
My heart did a little flip,
And my breath caught in my throat
As the kiss reached my soul,
Like an amazing bass note.

When he asked if I'd be his,
On the back of a noisy bus,
I know my answer was clear,
'Though 'twas a bit hushed.
For, now we've been together a month,
And thirty days have gone by
With nary a fight,
No sorrow or sigh
To break up the joy
That's become ours
Because of so many
Precious, passing hours.
And today,
As I think of those I love,
You are at the top of my list,
Like an angel from above.
You make me laugh,
You make me sigh,
And you are always there,
If for some reason I need to cry.
I thank heaven for you,
My darling, my dear,
And I'm counting the hours
'Til I may again hold you near.

~ November 26, 2008 ~

Written in celebration of our one-month "anniversary."

A Winter's Night

Snow falls
In soft, white flakes
Around us all,
One of the prettiest things
God chanced to make.
It falls on our hair
And coats the road
As through the air
The cries in the night
Are like a silent code,
Telling the Allies what to throw
And the Axis to throw back
Great balls of slush and snow
Across the path of pavement black.

I stand and watch,
A smile on my face,
And try not to be touched
By the crystals that fly
All around the place.

He is an Ally,
Faithful and true,
And he truly does try
To protect me
From the snowballs threw.
The night shimmers like glass,
And all 'round the lights,
Teenagers pass
The time that they wait
By being children in the night.
He laughs and plays, too,
Like a child long ago,
And smile I do
As he runs and laughs
And romps in the snow.
Suddenly he stops,
And comes to stand by me.
His unruly locks
Are covered in white,
But the look in his eyes is wild and free.
I am about to say so
When out of the blue
Says my sweet beau
(As dear as can be)
"You look quite pretty-ful, you do."
I giggle a bit
And his cheeks turn red.
My finger find the fit
In his hands intertwined,
As I brush snow from the top of his head.
"You're pretty all the time,"
He tries to clarify,
And the red from his cheeks creeps onto mine
As I giggle again,
In an attempt to be sly.
"It's just that this snow,
Falling softly around
Makes you look just so."
He says as he glances
Down at the ground.
I squeeze his cold hand
And look into his sweet face
As he quietly stands
And ascertains
This truly is the case.

My heart skips a beat
As he wraps his arms around me
And I stare at my feet,
Cold in the snow,
And I am happy.
I will never forget
This night in the snow,
Nor will I regret
The sweet man that I
Am so thrilled to know.

~ November 25, 2008 ~

You

Your smile is all I need,
Your touch is all I feel,
Your voice is all I hear,
Your face is all I see.
Your thoughts become my own,
Your feelings are set deep within my heart.
Your laugh makes me laugh,
Your smile makes me grin,
Your life has made me even more thrilled to live mine.
You're all I desire,
You're all I believe in,
You're all I love...
You're mine.

~ November 2, 2008 ~

Another Absense

There is piece of me, I fear,
That will always belong to you,
That will remember these times here -
Days filled with laughter
And mem'ries that I'll cherish
For years and years after.
You go now, my heart,
If just for a time,
And all the while we're apart
I'll think of you,
The things we love,
And the things we do
When we are near.
And I speak not,
For I hear
Your voice in my head,
Your laugh in my heart,
And as I lay in my bed
I think of you only
And cannot wait for Sunday,
When you'll be here with me.
Go enjoy this time with family and friends,
But be safe and stay well,
And come back to me again.

~ November 25, 2008 ~

Upon His Absense

To D.C. you go
My dear, but know
I'll miss you so much,
Miss your voice and your touch.
The look in your eyes,
The one I so prize,
I shall miss tonight
Along with your strength and your might.
Go hear the pipes play,
But be back for a new day
So we may sit backstage
And ignore the page
The rest of the cast is on...
No, we'll be gone
In a land all our own
Where no wind can moan
And the grass is green,
Shining with the sheen
Of the sun above.
This is a world built on love,
And I'll return time and time again
Although I know not when
And I know not how,
I think of it now
And I smile
A happy, cheesy smile
To think of we two
Together, me and you.
Go on to your band,
You'll miss the feel of my hand
And before the night ceases to be
You will return home to me.

~ November 5, 2008 ~

Our Fairy Tale

Once upon a time

In a far-off land

There lived a fair princess

And a prince who sought for her hand.

The two were as perfect

As couple could be,

And they often walked together

Along the shores of the rolling sea,

Staring into each others' eyes,

Holding hands and holding hearts,

And making vows to each other

That they never would part.

She was a beauty,

With hair of gold,

And he was quite brave,

As were most heroes of old.

But their love could not last,

Not as perfect bliss,

For there was another

Who jealously watched each sweet kiss,

And his heart was filled

With envy and crime,

For the princess was the loveliest

Creature of that time.

And he began to plot

And maniacally plan

A way that he, instead,

Might gain her fair hand.

Thus on the eve

Of the feast of All Saint's,

He caused her mother, the queen,

To fall in the deepest of faints.

All royals in the land

Flocked to her side,

For she was their pride,

And they feared that she'd died.

As they were occupied,

He caused the princess, too,

To sleep peacefully

As only the greatest sorcorers could do.

He rode away

With the girl on his horse,

With nary a map,

For he well knew his course.

He set off for a mountain ,

High in the sky,

Where he and his bride

Would soon together lie.

As he went,

Behind them rose

A forest

Such as now cannot grow.

Every branch was covered in thorn,

Not a blossom could be seen,

All twigs were black;

There was no green.

This wood grew tall

As it spread out wide.

Any soul desiring to pass

Would soon be lost inside.

* * * *

Asleep still was she,

As they rode up the mount,

And the miles flew by

With no one to count

How far they'd gone

Since the palace they'd left.

For the princess slept as though dead

And the sorceror was deft

At covering his trail

And knowing how far

He had yet to go

Before they reached the farthest star.

Beyond this star,

On the highest mountain peak,

Sat a castle of gold,

Bright as the tears glistening on her pale cheek.

Here she was laid,

'Til in a fortnight she'd awake

And discover herself alone,

For envy's evil sake.

* * * *

We leave her there now

And return to her prince.

It did not take long

For the king to convince

The boy (who was dear)

To rescue his love,

To again bring her near,

To remove her white glove,

And kiss her pale hand,

And kiss her red lips,

No matter how long

Or how many the trips.

* * * *

And so he set off,

With nary a guide,

To find where the Evil

His precious love did hide.

Armed with his sword

And his courage alone,

He set out in peace -

'Though the wind continued to moan.

The night was black

As he rode on,

And he began to wonder

If he was as good as gone.

As he rode

He though only of his love's fair face,

And her heart so pure

It put the saints in their place.

Thus he came

To the forest of black.

Frightened he was,

But still, he began to attack

The trees filled with magic

With evil inside

Until, truly, he wished

He could run and hide.

The forest was endless,

And so sharp were the thorns

That tore into his flesh

Like a million bulls' horns.

His face became scratched,

Blood poured down his cheeks

And he began to get dizzy,

And fell down in the brush like he'd been there for weeks.

Just when he thought

He almost was done

There tore through the brush

A beast on the run.

* * * *

It's eyes were flamed red

And it swung its great head

Towards our hero and then!

With a slash of his sword, it fell down dead.

Its great body shriveled at once

And the prince gasped, for lo!

There lay the sorcorer,

His greatest foe!

Rather than red,

The blood that streamed from the wound

Gleamed, obviously black

In the light of the moon.

The blood seaped to the roots

Of all the great trees,

And the prince was soon able

To cut them with ease.

He came to the castle,

And climbed a tall stair

To find the princess,

Mournfully weeping tears of despair.

And as he approached,

The stair made no sound,

Nor did his foot

Fall heavily on the ground.

She knew not that he approached

And she gasped with fright

As he kissed her pale cheek,

Then she laughed with delight

And cared not what blood

Stained her elegant dress

As she kissed away tears

And fondled each tress.

She bandaged each wound

Using strips of the lace

That she'd lovingly sewn

Caring for naught but to see the love on his face.

* * * *

Soon they returned

To the happy land by the sea,

Where the kingdom rejoiced

To see her and he.

They swiftly were wed,

And all of their life

They cherished the tale

Of how they became man and wife.

~ November 3, 2008 ~

Treasure

In days of old,
Nothing was more precious than gold.
But now, today,
We all pray
For something that's pure,
Something that's sure,
A love that's new,
Like morning dew
Fresh on the ground,
A treasure to be found.
More precious than silver
Is the feeling I feel all over,
And rubies cannot compare
To the passion in the air.
I would rather toss emeralds into the sea
Than lose what is here between you and me.
Important we are not,
But happy with our lot...
Together for now,
'Though we do not know how.
I have faith in the pow'r
Of each passing hour
That we are together,
Building bonds no man can sever.
We are together,
Together forever,
And I love it!

~ November 2, 2008 ~

A New Kind Of Love

Romeo and his Juliet

Their untimely deaths met.

Henry VIII and his many wives

Did away with many sad lives.

The love Tony and Maria felt

Ended when death's blow was dealt.

Stories are told

By people 'round who now are old,

Who loved and lost

At a horrible cost,

But we two have met

And ne'er will I forget

The way you've put within my mind

A love of a brand new kind.

The love we feel

Will always heal

Souls of the broken kind,

And in good time,

We'll pave the way

For others beyond our days

Who wish to love but cannot

And so by each other are distraught,

That they may love as we have loved

And may not fear...

The thing that brings them near.

And so together, you and I

We'll change the world by and by

Until at last, my sweet,

We will again in heaven meet.



~ October 28, 2008 ~

During Math Class

How could this happen to someone like me?
I never thought I could be so happy!
I can't concentrate in math,
When I try, my mind takes a different path.
I try to see angles, but in their place,
Is your precious, handsome face.
I love it when you smile,
You make my heart jump a mile,
And when I feel you hands and mine,
Wound together, intertwined
A shiver runs down my spine
And you proclaim "She is mine!"
And so, my dear,
We two are here.
Together are we,
And I'm happy as can be.

~ October 28, 2008 ~

My Boyfriend

A day spent in song
Seemed to move your heart along.
You finally started to see
What has become of you and me.
The look in your eyes
Is one I shall prize
Until mine eyes shall see
The glory of eternity.
"Will you come join me
And make this 'we'?"
You asked as you smiled
At this lonely child.
A sweet moment it was
Just between us.
My "yes" I pray was clear,
Whispered softly in my ear.
And as I looked upon your face,
My girly heart began to race.
This moment I though would never come
Finally has, and look what it's done.
I am yours and you are mine
Proclaimed through hands and hearts intertwined
And though you kissed me not, my dear,
I still feel tonight that you are near.
I hear your music in my head
As I lay down in my warm bed,
And think of you,
And how very few
Times I've been so lost and found
My head's in the clouds, my feet on the ground.
Only you can make me feel
The way I feel when you are near.

A First Real Kiss

The rain pounds,

Outside the world is grey,

But in my little room,

The thing I see is yesterday.

Above the peaceful town

The moon waned

The streets were still

As we stood before church with windows stained.

The angels above

Seemed to smile upon us

As though they knew your secret,

And felt it was just.

And as I stood,

My heart dancing,

Stomach filled

With butterflies a-prancing,

Your hand touched my face,

And shivers went down my spine

I clung close to you

As though you were mine.

We laughed and talked

Smiled and sighed

And I truly felt

Surely I'd died!

For could heaven be

More lovely than this?

Wondered I,

For to me, this was bliss.

In your arms

I found a love,

A perfect match

That fit me like a glove.

We are indeed

As perfect as couple can be.

Together we are right

Us - just you and me.

I never suspected,

I never would've known

What you would soon do,

Your feelings for me aptly shown.

Thus, as your lips met mine,

My pulse raced

(Although I'd claimed

There was no haste),

I found in your embrace

A kind of glory,

A kind of pain,

Such that was almost holy.

It was brief

But it was good

And it fit us

Very, very well.

And as we stood

In each others' arms,

I'd fallen completely

For your charms.

Nothing felt more right,

Like a poem all in rhyme

Than to be kissed

For the first time.

And not just kissed,

But kissed by you

A man I, a year ago,

Barely knew.

Now the memory of your touch,

The sound of your voice

Has truly made me certain.

I have made my choice.

My battle is won

The fighting now is done.

You are the only one

Who makes me feel undone.

And I am thine,

You've but to ask,

And the loneliness we've felt

Can be a thing of the past.

Please, my darling,

Speak your mind

And speak it fast.

I've found all I needed to find.

And I am more than ready,

My dear,

To have you forever,

My love, to hold you near.

~ October 25, 2008 ~

My Battle

There is a battle that wages

In ev'ry mind and ev'ry heart

Between that which is right

And that which is smart.

We can't help but fight

The things that we know,

Nor do we mind

The love that we grow.

In ev'ry mind, however, there is

A tiny little voice

That never stays silent

When we make a choice.

We often ignore

This voice that we hear -

Avoid it because

Of what we so fear.

Many people live

By three words alone.

"C'est la vie" are the words

That we often moan.

But "that is life"

Is so simple it cannot be true

There must be - there MUST be

More there for me and for you.

What more can there be?

We silently say

As we wait, unobserved

By the sidelines we pray.

Our life this is

And a life adored

Here on this earth

We could never be bored.

But there is something more

That we never may see,

Something very special

For you and for me.

The look in your eyes

As we slowly walk

Says more is there

Than just idle talk.

What could it be?

We leave it to God

But pray that he planned

For us all along.

Who are we?

Just two souls

Who happened to meet,

Oblivious of our different roles.

Our lives could change

And we'd never recognize

The spark that is there

Shining in your grey eyes.

But I think you see,

As well as do I,

That we now are the only two

Under the sky.

As we sit and we wait

And your hand touches mine,

My heart skips a beat

And proclaims "I am thine!"

Take me, my love,

Away from this place

Where all I need see

Is the love on your face.

But alas, my dear,

The light is too bright,

And you pull away

Back into the night.

And 'though never again

Will we walk the same streets,

I thank God ev'ry day

For making us meet.

My soul has been changed;

I'm not as I was

And I hope you know

I'm different because...

Because I had you

And you held onto me.

I am more now

Than ever I thought I could be.

You've changed me for good,

And now I must be

The one that you loved,

The true, honest me.

~ October 23, 2008 ~

I'll Be Home For Christmas

I'll be home for Christmas,
But only in my dreams.
For truly,
There is no Christmas -
Only broken homes and broken hearts.
Everywhere I see
Red and green,
Red for the blood and tears,
The pain and desperation I live;
Green for the envy,
The hatred and jealousy
That I feel,
When people murmur "Merry Christmas."
For I know theirs will be,
And mine will not.
So, truly,
I'll be home for Christmas
But only in my
Lost, miserable, insane, feverish dreams.

- December 18, 2007

Blissful Relief

The young woman smiled as she passed the old dance studio. So many memories! she thought. No, snap out of it, Maddy, she berated herself, turning to face the wind - away from the studio. This is business, sheer business. She slipped her frozen hands into her pockets, and immediately regretted it. Her fingers touched the cold metal of the tiny pistol in her pocket. Though it was carefully concealed, her heart pounded as she felt it, and, for a moment, she wondered if it was possible to run now. Fear, however, quickly overcame reason. She yanked her hand out of her pocket and moved swiftly through the dark alleys. The black night concealed her easily as she slunk from shadow to shadow like a miserable alley cat.

With every step, her confidence failed her. Yet the fear of his return caused her pace to quicken. She shivered, remembering his learing gaze as he shoved her on the airplane. He had been drunk, angry, and he'd just lost a fortune at the Vegas gaming tables. There was only one thought in his mind: revenge. He didn't care what he did or who he hurt in the process... he just wanted his money back.

And she had, once again, been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Who better to do the evil deed than the innocent fiancee? Thus, here she was, toting a gun and a guilty fear the size of Russia. He was a cruel man, and she knew if she did not fulfill her deadly commission, she would be next on his list - after he found some new place on her body that had not yet been purpled by his super-human hands.

She glanced around at the familiar setting unfolding before her. If she had only known! She had grown up here, she had been loved here, and now... she was about to kill someone in her very own hometown. As she came to the designated meeting place (where her unknowing victim would soon suffer an untimely demise), she stood stock still and waited. She could see hr breath in the night air, and her long, amber-colored hair flew about her pale skin.

It was not long before he turned the corner, and her hand flew to her mouth as she realized exactly who she had been ordered to demolish. "Alex?" she whispered. "My brother?"

"I'm supposed to meet someone here," he said, unknowingly, in a low, gruff voice.

"Yes," she whispered as she silently pulled the gun from it's hiding place. She set a frozen finger to the trigger and began to pull it towards her. Her hands shook, and she took a deep breath, preparing to shoot....

The gun clattered to the ground. Tears began to stream down her face, and she turned swiftly down the street. Her chest heaved, scalding pain tore through her unconditioned legs as she raced farther and farther away before collapsing in a heap on the pavement. A car horn blared, brakes screeched, and she looked up at the bright lights that blinded her. There was a flash of white, a whispered, "Thank you, God..." and all was black.

~ October 30, 2008

The Eternal Trek

A poem written after a walk of my own in a gorgeous but frightnening grave yard. Thanks to my bro for the help with the goofy words!


Blustering winds blow
Through skeletal trees
The sound they make
That of the dead
Moaning in a hell
Of their own making.

She walks through a graveyard
And the stones cast bleak shadows
Across the nearly frozen ground
And the brown, dead grass.
The gray of the stones...
Dreary and frightening.

What is this place?
What is this world?
Where people are worth no more
Than a hole in the ground
And a rock above their heads?
Does something more live on?

The girl wonders as she passes
But the field is silent
Eerily quiet
And the only sounds are those
Of the dreadful wind echoing
Through her head.

The leaves crunch beneath her feet
And fingers of the skeletons around her
Crack beneath her weight,
Though she weighs so little.
The wind from beyond
Could easily carry her within its grasp.

She struggles against the gale
Thinking not to turn back
She determines to finish her trek
If it kills her...
Little does she know
The dreadful night just may.

As she struggles on
The winds grow stronger
And leaves sweep all about her.
Her tiny frame is caught in the whirlwind,
And so blinded is she by the frozen rain that begins to fall
That she can see not.

Thus is the struggle
She faces as she presses on.
And in her heart of hearts
She knows that she will never
See the true light of day
Ever again...

Her tiny foot is caught in a hollow,
And she falls slowly, slowly,
To the ground.
It catches her within its eternal grasp
And a fresh grave reaches up to her
As she tumbles down.

The night is suddenly soundless
And the wind howls no more.
The leaves are still
The harsh sleet turns gently
To a pure white snow
Like powder on the ground.

It covers her with its freezing warmth
And as it does so
Her lips pale
Her breathing slows
And the white night
Turns ever so slowly...

To deepest black.

A First Kiss

Dedicated to a certain darling someone.

I'm not quite sure
Exactly what to say
To let you know the way I feel.
I want you to know
How you've changed my life
How you've altered my world,
But I don't know
Quite how to say
That my heart pounds
When you are near
Yet it stills
And I am at peace.
How do I say
That when you touched me
My whole world
Suddenly blazed.
My skin tingled
And my breath caught
As though your touch
Might truly kill me.
And yet I smiled,
And I was happy
Happier than I've ever been.
And when you kissed me
As though nothing more mattered,
I was pretty
I was special
Summer and winter
Convened as one,
Glorious under the lamplight
Of a cool autumn night.
The world sleeps.
All but two...
And we who rest not
Have a very good reason.
We are together
And such is the only
Reason we need
Or desire.
Your arms hold me close
And I can feel your heartbeat
As surely you can mine.
And as I stand very tall,
And my lips brush your cheek,
I feel alive
Yet I can't breathe
And the moon comes out
And you kiss me back.
Heaven and hell have met in this embrace.
And I know, somehow,
My life,
My joy,
My dreams...

Will never be the same.

~ 10/21/08

I felt something there
For quite some time,
But refused to admit
I might be in love.
I had been hurt
And I was determined
Yet when you took my hand
When you held me close
When your lips touched my cheek,
Something burst into a flame
Roaring through the night.
Your touch,
So gentle,
So passionate
Sent shivers down my spine.
And turned my world upside-down.
I wanted to laugh,
I wanted to cry,
But more than anything,
I wanted your warm arms
To wrap me in their soft embrace
And never let me go.
My darling,
Please,
Never let me go.

~ 10/19/08

In Memorium

*I don't remember when this was written... I believe it was sometime in April last year. Musical... sigh.*

The moon hides herself away
Waves crash on the shore
We've wasted another day
Wishing to live once more.

Our hearts cry out
We want to die
All of the doubt
Makes my soul cry.

Where have I gone wrong?
Loved ones so dear
Now are gone,
No longer near....

Hearts are wenched away
Pain is etched inside.
Sadly it is here to stay...
There is nowhere to hide.

Love is lost
Hearts are broken
I must count this cost
My destiny has spoken.

Dreams waver and flee
Far, far away...
Torture overcomes glee
As darkness does the glorious day.

Oh, that I were a bird,
A snowy-white dove,
That perhaps my cried would be heard,
By you, oh you, my love.

A path of jewels
Leads to you...
And I, such a fool,
Followed it through.

Through the dark,
Happily singing,
I was as a lark,
Free as a bell ringing.

But alas, dreams are dreams
And the next merely leads to the next
And they tend to lose their gleam
As does an oft-read text.

I know my dreams cannot be
And wishes are for mere children,
But I hope someday you look back and see
That you were really meant for me.

Dedicated to... well, to all of them. That gay bastard who broke my heart, the aunt who ruined my life, the uncle who crashed my last connection and turned my heart to stone... I love you all, and I desperately wish I could hate you instead.

Why?

Why is she so tall
Why is she so thing
Why is he so hott...
Why am I so not?
Why am I so short
So homely
So pathetic
So "uncool?"
Why can she sing so well?
She has a boyfriend...
Why don't I?
I don't even have an admirer!
Why am I so different?
I don't feel special
I don't feel pretty,
I'm a freak!
You say you love me
But you gave me this body.
You say you care
But you made me...
Me.

Why, God?

Why?

~ Written September 27th, 2006

I'm Just A Girl

I'm just a girl
Dreaming of romance
I'm just a girl
Longing to dance
With my handsome prince
Who doesn't exist...
I'm just a girl.

Girls have imaginations
Things only they can see
Girls have someone special
I want someone special
Belonging just to me.

I'm just a girl
Longing to be loved
By a king.
He'd say...

"You're pretty
You're lovely
Be mine.
Be my right-hand man
Be my horse-sense
Be the one who leads me
Where I need to be."

I'd say, "Alright
I'll be your hand
Your sense
Your guide..."

But no,
I'm just a girl
And girls can't have kings.

~ Written September 18th, 2006

Waiting

Lost and alone
Nervous and afraid
A young girl weeps.
So much has changed
Everything is so different
She knows better
Than to harm herself
She's been down tht road
It came to a dead end.
But she doesn't know
Where to turn
Who to trust.
She would never again
See death as an escape
She knows full well
That was a big mistake.
But she isn't sure
Where she's going
From here.
She was certain
She was healing
That everything was okay
But now it's not
Her world
Has turned upside-down
Someone she loves
Is again in pain
Someone she missed badly
She may never see again
And she doesn't understand
Why it's happening again.
She feels like
She can't tell anyone
She can't trust anyone
She is scared,
Very scared.
She's not ready
She's crying out again
"Why?
God, what have you done?
Why have you done it?
A god of love
Is loving
He shouldn't case pain.
So, God,
How could you do this
To me?
How?
Why?
Why?"

The girl
Doesn't know
What to say
What to think
How to respond.
A response
Would be amazing
A positive response -
A miracle.
So she's putting down her pen
Not giving up
Just waiting
Waiting for an answer
For anything
Anything at all...
Anything....

*Written after learning that yet another cousin might have cancer.*

Wonder of Wonders

*This was written for a guy that I was obsessed with my freshman year of high school. I laugh, looking back at myself...*

I thought for sure
Our love was dead
Or rather
Never there to begin with.
I was so afraid
So unsure
We hadn't spoken for so long
I had ignored you
My heart grew cold
As far as you could tell.
I was just angry
Hurt and upset.
But I gazed at you in choir
Kissed your picture good-night
Cried myself to sleep at night
Thinking of you
Remembering you
Wishing you were there with me.

But living on my own was no fun.
I had no reason to be happy.
Nothing to look forward to.
As I passed you every day
I found that still
You made my heart pound
You looked less happy
I liked to think you're upset
Because you miss me
Even though I know that's not true.

Then suddenly
I've had enough
I miss you too much
To keep being pigheaded,
Stubborn,
So I muster up my courage
A I pass your locker
I see you standing there
My heart pounds...
But I do it.
A simple word
Just hello.

A smile lights up your face
A conversation ensues
And in that instant
Everything is right
All I need
I suddenly have.
The world could spin forever
As long as you and I
Could be together
For just as long.

I am now content
I love you
And since we spoke
You seem happy
You laugh more
You smile more
And, just for now
I'll let myself imagine
You're happy
Because of me.

Of Death and Dying

"Telegram for Madame Elizabeth Eli," the boy piped. I smiled as I took the message from him.

"Won't you come in, my child?"

"No, thank you, Madame. I must hurry home this evening."

"Very well," I said to the adorable blonde child at my door. "Wait just one moment, I'll fetch you something for the journey."

I hurried to the kitchen and sliced a fresh apple pie. Grabbing a cloth napkin, I wrapped a slice and returned to the main hall. "Here, don't make yourself ill." A toothless smile lit up his drawn face as he turned to leave. "Wait!" I cried. I laid two coins in his hand.

"Gee, thanks, mum!" he exclaimed, eyes sparkling brightly. I grinned and took my telegram to the parlor to read it. The message took my breath away, and quickly turned my smile upside down. Husband and baby dead [stop] Do not return [stop] Fever rages [stop]

"NO!" I shrieked, tears quickly filling my eyes and overflowing. I dropped to my knees, feeling as though my heart had been torn from within my breast. The telegram fluttered to the ground as I sobbed and wrenched my clothes in twain.

"Madame!" Ellen gasped from the doorway The servant rushed into the room. "Madame, cease!"

I ignored her. "No!" I screamed. Ellen quickly took charge, shaking me to calm me. I struggled to free myself from her grasp, but to no avail. She crushed me to her ample bosom.

"Madame, you must cease this torment! What has happened?" She searched the room with her penetrating brown eyes. Her gaze fell upon the sheet of paper which lay beside us. I quivered as she brought it near.

"Oh, Mistress Elizabeth," she crooned, when she had read it. She again pulled me close, and stroked my auburn hair. My breath came hard and fast, as I tried desperately to calm myself. We sat there for the better part of an hour, then she took me to my chambers where I cried myself to sleep.

* * *

"Elizabeth," a voice boomed in the darkness of my mind. "Elizabeth!" I stirred in my bed. A knock pounded at my door. The final cobwebs of sleep shook from my mind as I sprang from my bed.

"Phillip?" I whispered. It was his voice I heard, the gruff, raspy voice of my deceased husband.

"Elizabeth!" The cry was so violent it shook the windows. I quickly threw on my robe of purest white silk and hurriedly unbarred the door. A gurgling came from the end of the hall. Thud, thud, gurgle, gurgle. Was it my own heart pounding, my stomach churning? Or... no, wait! Another sound joined them now... clank, clank, clank! came the unmistakable sound of a heavy chain being dragged across the wooden floorboards.

Did I dare cry out? I took a deep breath and willed my heart to beat at its usual pace. "Only a dream," I said out loud to no one. Supposing my nightmare out of the way, I turned to again assume the state of glorious sleep. I laid down, barely awake, when my anxious ears picked up the steadily growing wail of a hungry babe.

"Christine!" I gasped. I rose again, my heart now beating so hard against my ribs that I could barely breathe. For, as though to mask the baby's cry, came the gentle swish of fabric, followed by the original thud, thud, thud, gurgle, gurgle, clank. The fear in me made me begin to run the other way, but me mother's heart forced me to stop and go to my child.

I searched the room frantically, looking for my daughter. "Christine! Christine Galiana! Mother is coming!" There was no reply. The call ended as abruptly as it had began. I slumped in the wooden rocker, my mind clearing more with every tear that escaped my dark lashes. Christine was gone with Phillip. I would never see either of them again.

"Elizabeth," it came again, this time in the whisper of a summer breeze. I froze, all of my wits gone and replaced with terror. The sounds that I thought had ceased came nearer now, nearer, nearer. Still frozen, I clasped my hands in prayer. Thud, thud, thud, gurgle, gurgle, clank, swish, swish. Closer, closer, now as near as my own pounding heart.

I shrieked, and the noise seemed to stop. At the same time, an ice-cold hand touched my shoulder. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I beheld a bony, white, jagged arm, frozen as with death.

"Elizabeth."

I turned, the blood surging through my veins like a locomotive. Utter blackness met me, unending darkness. I slowly raised my eyes farther, farther, until a blinding white light found my face, pounding from the hood of the dusky cloak. Staring into the light, I saw my husband holding my daughter. He beckoned silently.

"Phillip!" Whether I cried aloud or in my head I will never know. I stepped closer, closer. He embraced me, and all went black... forever.

* * *

The London Times Obituaries: December 17, 1913

Elizabeth Eli, nineteen, dead December 16th, of the fever. Mistress Eli was found in Westside Manor, and is to be buried in St. John's Cathedral graveyard. She was the wife of the late Phillip J. Eli, they had one child.

Gracious and beautiful in life, she will be the loveliest angel walking the streets of gold.

Happy Forever After

*This short story was written in 7th grade based upon a Renaissance artwork. I'm still actually rather proud of it!*

It was dusk. The crickets were singing merrily, and the breeze was dancing to the summer night's music. My sister was playing along on her mandolin, her husband Ben sitting at the desk managing the Dourside taxes. I sat at my needlework, penetrating not only the tough fabric but my finger as well, when there came a knock at the door.

Lyssa ceased her music and answered the door. “Yes, My Lord?”

“My Lady Lyssa, I'm requesting an audience with the Lady Elyzibeth, if I may?” My breath caught in my throat. Phillip. My heart began to beat faster as he strode through the door. His dark hair gleamed, and his face shone with such... I don't know... love, and romance, and daring! The thought of the Earl of Devenport made my usually pale face blush a bright crimson.

Lyssa curtsied and closed the door to create a direct path towards me. Phillip stepped closer and made a low bow. I extended my hand to him.

“My Lord, what an unexpected yet much wished for visit,” I murmured, afraid that if I breathed he would be gone as if in a dream.

“Elyzibeth, I feel it is time to shed a little light on our relationship,” he glanced at Lyssa, then at Ben, who was watching us out of the corner of his eye.

“My Betha, you and I have been seeing each other for a long time and I now feel the moment is right. Lyzzi, will you consent to forever being the Lady Elyzibeth of Devenport, and residing there as... my bride?” Lyssa and Ben darted a quick glance at each other, then looked back at me. I looked away from Phillip's mirthful blue eyes, feeling my own joyous laughter bubbling up inside of me.

I turned back to him, and with all the dignity I could muster, replied, “Yes!” before falling happily into his arms.

I looked up, dazed, expecting to see Phillip's shining eyes gazing down on me. However, all I saw were the staring eyes of the overseer, dark and brooding like the ocean during a storm.
I fell to my knees, fearing for my life. The overseers did not understand my sudden flashbacks, and neither did my master or his mistress.

“I'm sorry, sir, I did not mean to!” I cried, groveling before the foreboding man. “It will not happen again, I swear it!”

“That's what you said before,” his voice sent chills down my spine. “Why should I believe you anymore this time than I did the last?”

Trembling, I replied, “I swear it will not happen!”

“I'll see to it that it doesn't.” The shadow of his arm raising the whip to strike me crossed the sun, and the deafening noise of the whip startled me into tears.

“No, please!” I cried. Craaak, went the whip. The leather tore through my clothes, ripping at my flesh. I screamed, which only enticed the overseer to hit me harder. I was given twenty lashes, at which point he turned and walked away. I stood, blood streaming down my back as my friends rushed to help me.

“Chile, what's wrong with you?” old Sadie muttered as I staggered toward our shack.

“I don't... don't know,” I wept. My back ached as Sadie's spindly old hands tended my wounds. I reached for her arm, gazing into her ebony eyes. “One day,” I said, “One day I'm going to be free again. When Phillip comes for me, I going to set you free too, you understand? We'll all be free, as God intended us to be.”

“Lawdy, Chile, how you think you gonna do that?”

“I know exactly how, Sadie.” I winced as I laid myself down on the bed again.

“Yes, ma'am, girl. You know how's you gonna be getting' freed, you come back n' free me, too.”
We fell silent, her chocolaty arms comforting me, telling me I could succeed.

I went to bed that night, scared of what was going to happen to me. Would Phillip come for me like I thought? If he did, would the master sell me to him? Or would my fiance have to use force or his title to bribe my captor? The questions continued unanswered as I dozed of and began to dream.

The man crept into my room through the window, while I slept unaware. I awoke to find a sweaty handkerchief in my mouth . I tried to scream but could not. I was trapped. I saw the hand grab me and felt myself being slammed against the wall. Then everything went black. The next thing I knew I was in the hold of a ship with two hundred moaning Africans. The wailing was too much. I shrieked, but the sound was muffled by a large white hand. My captor was old Henry Darnsworthy, the man who Ben replaced as Lord of Dourside. He whispered, “First the lady. Then her husband,” and cackled wickedly. He had obviously mistaken me for my sister, who, judging by the number of Africans I was surrounded by in the hold of a ship, would be sailing for a slave market in the New World.

I awoke sweating. I hadn't dreamed of my capture in months! What was going on with me? I gradually fell back to sleep, but it was not the peaceful rest that I needed.

The next morning one of the household slaves came to me with the astounding news: there was a white man, “Like you Lyzzi!” Essie reported, amazed, who was signing the papers to purchase me at that very moment! My heart immediately sang out my beloved's name, and I leapt from the bed despite my injuries. I went as quickly as I could to the master's house, running to his study. I forgot to knock (something that is fatal to forget) and rushed right into the burly man who turned to grasp my arms. I shrank back. This wasn't Phillip! What cruel trick had been played on me?

“Come on,” the gruff voice commanded.

I gulped. “Yes, master,” I replied weakly as I lowered my head and backed out of the room.
We left immediately after I gathered my few belongings and said good bye to my friends. He can't be too bad, I thought, if he lets me tell my second family good bye.

“I won't forget you,” I whispered to Sadie as we embraced, tears in our eyes. I would've said more, but I was whisked away into my new owner's carriage.

Imagine my surprise when we drove to the shore where a boat waited to return us to Europe. We boarded and spent many days traveling across the sea, but I spoke not to the man who had taken away my second chance at freedom.

We landed on the British shore where yet another carriage waited to transport my captor and I to, I was sure, his castle.

I was paying little attention when the horses stopped at Devenport on the Scottish border. Lord Edward (as I learned was the man's name) led me to exquisite rooms fit only for a person of my former title, not a slave. I was treated like royalty then left to spend the night alone with a bodyguard (for a slave? I thought) next door.

The morn of the next day I was greeted by a chambermaid bearing a gown of sea green and ivory. I allowed her to dress me in it for the breakfast meal with the Earl of Devenport.
I was seated by a page in vermilion and sapphire livery. Lost in my own world, I did not notice when everyone else stood and the Earl entered. He crossed to where I was seated and kissed my gloved hand. Startled out of my daze, I looked down on the strong face and azure eyes of Phillip James Eli, Earl of Devenport, who raised me up and kissed me sweetly, at which point I promptly blushed a bright red.

“Lyzzi,” he said, “Do you still want me?”

“Yes!” I breathed. “With all of my being!”

“Then let us proceed to Dourside where we shall be wed as soon as you wish, my lady.”

I didn't speak. I simply threw my arms around him and kissed him again.

Thus, what began as pure bliss turned into tragedy, yet was worked out for the good of all. Yes, I remembered dear Sadie and the rest of the slaves. When the owner of Jacobson Plantation died shortly after Phillip and I were married, my darling husband bought the place and freed all the slaves, giving it to his sister and brother-in-law; Lord Edward and his wife Lady Katherine (he's forgiven me for my treatment of him on the journey, and I'm quite glad).

So Lyssa, Ben, Edward, Katherine, Phillip and I all lived happily forever after, along with my freed family.

Simply Thank-You

Dear Sir, I wrote, then crossed out. I gnawed on my pencil, not knowing how to begin to write what I was feeling.

Dear Mr. Veteran, I tried again. No, that wasn't correct either. I could call him by his name, but that seemed too informal.

If only the letter was as easy to write as the feelings were to feel! I let my mind wander back in time a year and a half, to my freshman year of high school....

* * *

November 11, 2006. Veteran's Day. All day long, men came in and out of classrooms, explaining the wars they had served in, but not any horrors of the war. I had sat through history class, thinking, “These men are so ordinary. Why are they here?” Of course, I knew what veterans were, and that we were to honor them, but that was the extent of my knowledge. I'd never had any personal contact with veterans before.

That all changed that afternoon. As a choir member, I sat up on the stage, ready to sing our beloved national anthem. It was then that I saw him come on stage.

He rolled on in a power scooter, an oxygen tank at his side. He was a hefty man, and, quite frankly, I was a bit afraid of him. What's wrong with him? I wondered to myself, trying not to stare.

As the ceremonies proceeded, Mr. Reimensnyder announced the names of the present veterans, beginning with Mr. Ralph Ammon. My gaze was drawn back to the sickly man, and I felt my heart break for him as his story was told.

Mr. Ammon survived a German Prisoner of War camp. He ate dirt, worms, and suffered through unimaginable things. He is ill now because he vowed that he would never go hungry again.
I nearly cried that day.

* * *

I did cry the next year. I had been promoted to Soprano I in choir, and, therefore, was the closest person to Mr. Ammon. I was the one who helped him situate his scooter, who answered his questions about Mifflinburg's incredible field hockey team.

And I was the one who saw him rise as we sang the national anthem. He couldn't walk, but he stood proudly as we sang The Star-Spangled Banner.

I was the one who saw the tears slip down his rough, withered cheeks as the band played his service song, and I was the one who watched him rise to salute.

The assembly continued, but I could not think of anything other than the veteran. I felt a tear or two roll down my own cheeks, and swiftly wiped them. I could not even begin to imagine what Mr. Ammon had been through. I wanted more than anything to sit and talk with him for hours, but I knew I couldn't. So I went home, with only a simple, “Good-bye, Sir,” to the man who had so fiercely touched my soul.

I've tried for months to think of a way to thank him, but every idea seems so overdone. Now, today, I've given up thinking of pathetic, glorious ways to tell him – a total stranger – what he has meant to me. He showed me why we love our veterans, why we are so proud of them. The best thing I could think of was merely this:

Dear Sir,
Thank you.

-Jade Arwen Enders
4/28/08

Heart's Revolution

Heart's Revolution
August 29, 1788, Paris, France

Maurice, Maurice, where are you?

A mere girl lay beneath a silent oak tree. Her blush rose gown was tattered, torn apart by dirt, blood, and tears. Her long auburn hair was immodestly unbound, and her breathing was shallow, for she feared the wrong noise would attract the wrong people... her father's soldiers....
Had it only been ten days ago that she was formally pronounced the heir to the French throne? And was it only three short days ago that she had run from the castle, lucky to have both love and life in hand? So few days....

* * * * * * *

It was August sixteenth, and, in the Chateau de Versailles (not far from Paris), the world was peaceful... in a very busy way. The imperial palace was bustling with servants, courtiers, and foreign royalty, all gathered by invitation of King Louis XVI. The celebration was an important one.... The dauphine, for the first time, would be formally introduced to the blue-blooded Parisians as the future queen of France, seeing as Louis and his queen, Marie, had no other children.

Soft music played, and the chandeliers sparkled like a million stars in the gilded sky. The mirrors caught and reflected every crystal rainbow, throwing them against King David, who was plucking his harp on a brocade tapestry. Greek gods rested among the clouds of the marble heavens above, observing as first a duchess, then a marquis, then a comte passed through the high archway. As the guests passed in and out of the salle de bal, the ballroom, a trumpet fanfare blew, and the king and queen appeared at the head of the stairs. Both of their majesties were clothed imperially, wearing cloth of gold and diamonds, dripping from every exposed limb and extremity.

“Friends, honored guests!” the king began, and the room grew completely silent. “Welcome. Let not the rumors of revolution damper your spirits on this, the greatest of all occasions. Lords and ladies, I give to you tonight... your future. Voila, la dauphine de France, Marie-Christine.” The horns sounded again and, as if by magic, she appeared at the head of the stairs.

She took her father's arm graciously, and began the long descent. The stairs seemed to be miles long, but as she walked, young Christine sparkled like a ray of sunlight. A gown of the purest virgin white satin was fitted around her slim, corseted waist, from which her skirts widened to encompass the fashionable hoops underneath. Woven into her upswept auburn hair were tiny diamond jewels, glittering under the crystal chandeliers. Clasped around her neck and dangling from her dainty ears were strands of diamonds. Her gown glimmered with golden embroidery, and her eyes flashed an emerald green. Her dainty feet carried her to the bottom of the marble staircase, where she outshone every woman and her jewels, save those of her mother, the queen.

Christine's eyes darted back and forth. Her father had chosen to announce her betrothal tonight as well, and she was very much afraid. She knew who had been chosen, and had signed the contract. But she had never met the man... her betrothal ceremony was carried out by proxy. Only tonight would she see which old man was the Comte de Marseilles, the man who would soon rise in name, power, and fortune as her husband, the future king of France.

She was almost at the bottom of the stairs, and no one was there... No one was greeting her, beckoning to her... She struggled to keep the innocent smile dancing on her ruby lips as she desperately searched the sea of faces before her. Her heart pounded quickly, and she felt her ankles shake with nerves.

Then, stepping from the shadows to greet her, stood a man all in white. A golden crown rested upon his golden curls, and his brown eyes seemed to crinkle up in a smile when he saw his future bride. He was young, and few wrinkles marred his kind face. From what Christine could see, he was handsome... very handsome. He held out his hand and, bowing, took her from her father. The orchestra struck up a slow waltz, and they began to dance. They spun, swirled, and whipped around the room, until the other courtiers joined them and the room became a kaleidescope of whirling, wild colors, shimmering in the light of a million lamps.

“Your highness,” the comte whispered as he led the exhausted girl from the throng, “Shall we retire to l'orangerie?” He indicated the immense orange gardens outside Versailles.

“Oui, merci,” she said gratefully. Her feet made no sound as they passed through la Galerie de Glaces, and the huge mirrors glimmered and reflected every single jewel that she wore. The night was dark, but stars shown brightly in the sky above, illuminating the footpaths beneath the greenery. When they finally reached the innermost gardens, she sat upon a bench beneath the shrubbery. “Would you fetch me a glass of ale, Monsieur le Comte?” she asked softly.

“Call me Philippe, my lady. After all, we will soon be husband and wife,” he said, kneeling before her to kiss her gloved hand. She smiled as she was taught, but the minute he rose and left her side, her smile turned upside down. The man had been too familiar with her, as though she were a common broad rather than the future queen of the country! She had been raised to believe that she was the most important person in the realm, and this fool kissed her hand! What kind of count was he? A poor commoner who simply came into power through a great-aunt or some other deceased relative? Why had her father chosen him, of all men?

She had finally gotten a good look at the man that she was to wed and bed, and he was not as handsome or as young as he originally appeared. His blond hair was streaked with gray, and he had wrinkles all over his face, covered only by those hideously fashionable beauty marks. He was not as tall as he seemed, either, although every man seemed like a giant to the small princess.

“Psst!”

Christine turned suddenly, her heart pounding. She was unescorted in the innermost gardens of le parc, and anything could happen if the guards happened to fall asleep on duty... She jumped at the sound of a snapping twig amongst the trees. “Who is there?” she called, willing her voice to still.

“Me!” the voice came again.

“Who's 'me'?” she whispered in response. She glanced around anxiously. It certainly wasn't Comte Philippe... his voice was light and airy, like a child's. This voice rumbled and groaned, thundering in her ears and making her heart jump, although the sounds issuing forth were only whispers. “Come hither!” she said, standing and drawing herself to her full height as she had been taught. Her white gown brushed the ground, soiling the hem a bit. “Come, I command you!”

“Command! Who are you to command me?” the voice said again.

“I am the princess of France! How dare you contradict me?” she cried angrily. “I could have your head chopped off and served for the Assumption Feast if I wished!”

He (for the voice was undoubtedly male) laughed, a harsh, scorning laugh. “Try. Try to catch me.” he taunted. Christine gasped. In all of her training, she had never learned how to deal with insolent men when there were no guards about.

“Oh, I'm afraid you leave me no choice!” she growled through gritted teeth, “PLEASE come out!” He laughed again, and soon she heard a scuffle from beneath the bush. Her heart pounded, and her stomach flip-flopped inside of her as he stood before her. He was a god... Tall and strong... his muscles bulged beneath the holey tunic that he wore. His hair was dark, but his eyes were a poignant ice-blue, flickering with a cold fire that seemed to calm when he caught sight of her. He was dirty, but the dust only served to emphasize his roman features. She found herself struggling to keep her composure as she looked up at him. He was so close to her...

He was much taller than she was, and he looked like he could break anyone in half at any moment. But there was something in his eyes, a look of courage and bravery that she had never seen before. His courage was not covering his cowardliness, but rather striving to hold back a look of kindness and generosity for his fellow men... and women.

“Ah, there you are, my love!” Christine turned, and the man dove back beneath the shrubs. Lovely timing, dear, she sighed to herself. Philippe handed her a glass of champagne, pausing as his fingers brushed hers.

“Your love?” she whispered, a bit taken aback.

He laughed harshly. “Of course. We are to be husband and wife, no?”

“No. Not yet. I am still young, monsieur le Comte. It will be at least a year before we will be wed. There are a million things to plan! There's the sewing to be done, I need a trousseau! There's cooking, cleaning, learning...” With every word, he was coming closer. Her tongue quickly became tied, and she swallowed hard, searching for more to say. His horrible breath was on her neck now, and she suddenly found herself tripping over the marble bench, only to be caught by his rough hands.

“You are a nobleman, sir! How dare you? Take your hands off of me!” she screamed. His thick lips cut her scream short, as he held her to the bench. She could not move away, she could not cry for help! God, help me! Holy Mother, be with me now! I'll say so many Hail Maries tonight, I promise, she prayed in her mind. Nothing happened. The count's hands were all over her face, and she feared his indecency would not stop there...

“What do you think you're doing to the lady?” the dark man asked quietly. Philippe ignored him. “Don't pretend I'm not here, monsieur.” Still, he held her. The dark god was becoming angry...
The punch that was thrown echoed throughout the inner courtyard, and Philippe stood quickly, glowering in stunned silence. Christine's breath caught in her chest, tears straining to ruin her imperial composure. Another punch flew through the air, and, with a great thud, the beast fell at her feet.

“Come, my lady. We have no time to waste here.” She was frozen to the spot. She could not move...

Her head felt light, and she felt herself sway in the sudden breeze. She tried to right herself, but, before she knew what was happening, fell in a graceful swoon... right into the arms of her dusty hero.

* * * * * * *

“My lady,” he whispered as he gently lay her on the straw cot in his cottage. “Lady Christine, please wake up.” She looked like an angel in her sleep. He had to resist the urge to kiss her, but with every breath, it grew harder. Everything about her was ethereal, from the way her eyes twitched as though she dreamed to the way her auburn hair framed her ivory face with rays of sunshine to the way she sighed in her sleep. He glanced around. He should not have brought her here. She would awaken and be frightened... better that he be gone, lest she think he had done something untoward. But, as he turned to leave, his heart began to break. Mon ange, he thought to himself. My angel. One kiss, just one, wouldn't do any harm. He turned back, his palms growing clammy. Her beauty beckoned to him, and he knelt, taking just one of her dainty hands in his rough, overworked paws. He leaned forward and their lips touched... briefly, but they touched.

She stirred, and he jumped back. Oh no! Now I've awakened her! But the princess did not open her eyes. He took it as a sign from God that he was to leave, and hurried out the door.

“Maurice!” a call came from the alley beyond the house. He looked around quickly, and then dashed across.

“Maurice, did you do it?” a tall, skinny youth asked excitedly. “We've been waiting all evening! Did you get the princess?”

Maurice nodded. “Yes, she's in the house. I'm still not sure this is a very good idea, Francois. Someone could get hurt... a lot of people could get hurt.”

“What? Maurice, those blue-blooded pigs deserve to get hurt. Our families deserve to eat. We deserve to live better lives than they give us the chance to. They're just people.”

“Yes, but you haven't seen her...”

“Her? Her who? The dauphine? She is just another one of them. Please tell me you haven't fallen for her charms like the rest of the world has. We need you to lead us, Maurice! You know best!”

Maurice sighed and ran his hand through his thick, black hair. “I will lead, Francois, but I will not see an innocent young woman harmed.”

“Ha, going soft, Maurice?” another young man entered the conversation. He strutted through the dank alley, his head held high.

“You are very funny, Guillaume. Very funny. No, I'm just protecting the innocence of a young woman. Don't you realize, gentlemen, that she could be our chance?” A look of puzzled amusement crossed the faces of the other two men. Maurice sighed and sat on the ground. “Listen, it is not hard to understand. Marie-Christine Sophie-Marguerite, the dauphine, is the most important girl in all of France. She is also the most well-loved by the aristocracy. We kidnap her, and we suddenly have all of the noblemen in Paris, Marseilles, Dijon, and every other city in France sending their soldiers after us in search of their 'lady princess.' This was originally the plan. We would hold her ransom until they came and saw the way we lived. But! If the princess herself sees this ditch that we call home, perhaps she'll come to realize that life is not only parties and princes, new gowns and diamonds. So, we return her to the palace, she fights for us against the aristocracy, and suddenly, we began to see changes. Don't you understand? No one will die this way.”

Blank expressions covered the faces of the two younger men. “I suppose,” Francois said, but the lines of confusion on his forehead said otherwise. “So, we have to return her to the palace after we give her a tour of the grandest places in Paris?”

“Yes! Bravo, Francois.” He glanced back at the tiny cottage. “Where are the rest of the men?” he asked anxiously. “We're missing Antoine, Jean, Marc, and, oh, who's the other one... I always forget his name...”

“Raoul,” Guilluame supplied.

“Ah, yes, Raoul. Guillaume, have you heard from Enjolras or Marius on the other side of the city?”

“Yes, they are ready to march if necessary, and will gladly welcome us to their side of Paris if we need a place to stay.”

“Good.” He sighed. “Now, gentlemen, I must go check on our prize. Relay the new plan of attack to the other gentlemen and make sure that Marius and Enjolras know.” He turned, leaving them in the dust.

As he hurried back across the street, he shook his head. I understand that they are new to revolution, but something must be done, and this is the perfect situation! he thought. He paused in the door to catch his breath before going in to the frightened young woman, but when he opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat. She was gone!

* * * * * * *

What happened? Christine woke up just to see Maurice disappear beyond the door. She sat up swiftly, her heart pounding in her chest. Where am I? The tiny house was dank and dingy, and she could hear rats fighting over a crumb of bread in the corner. She flung herself from the bed and out the door, running blindly past the house and many huts after it. When she finally stopped, she was completely lost.

People huddled in dark corners heard her rush by and began to gather around her when she paused to catch her breath. Their clothes were torn and shabby, their faces grim and dirty, although incredibly curious. Christine couldn't help but notice the little boy who peered from his mother's filthy skirts to peek at the glorious, albeit dirty, princess. She knelt in the dirt, ignoring the tears that had stained her dress. “Bonjour,” she whispered, holding her hand out to the little one. He shrunk back into his mother's skirts again, but glanced out at her with a sheepish smile.
Her heart ached for the poor little boy – he couldn't have been more than two – and she felt tears come to her eyes as she watched him. “Je m'appelle Marie-Christine,” she said in her simplest French, hoping that someone would state their name in return. She rose and looked around at the quiet circle that had gathered about her.

“We know,” a young woman said harshly, a glint of anger in her hazel eyes. She crossed her arms over her protruding stomach protectively, as if to shield the child she so obviously carried. Others in the little group nodded in agreement, some more cautious and frightened than angry. Christine shrank back, and her heart jumped fiercely and suddenly from her breast to her throat.

“What's the matter?” she whispered. “What have I done?” She stared at them, and the space between them shrank as they pulled closer and closer to her.

“Look at that dress!” the same woman said fiercely. “You could have fed an entire town with the money it took to make that fancy dress. Your earrings alone could've built a city. But, no. You, your highness, spend your time in fancy palaces, dancing and dining with princes and kings while we starve. We're people, just like you. And we need to live.” An angry tear suddenly slipped from her eye, and she began to yell to cover her sobs, “This is the third child I've tried to raise, and, God help me, I've lost every one of them! I starve, and my baby does too. Look around you, Princess!” she screamed. “Look at the faces of your people! We're hungry, we have no clothing!” She scooped the little boy into her arms and thrust him at the girl. “Look at Jean-Phillippe. He has never talked. He's three, and he has never spoken. He has never laughed. He has never cried - because of you. Because of your dress. Because of your palace,” she seethed maliciously.
Christine was crying now, her tears watering the dry dirt beneath them. She took the little boy in her arms, cradling him to her. He snuggled close to her bosom, and her heart broke in two. Her shaking fingers stroked Jean-Phillippe's tiny brow, and she wept. “I never knew,” she whispered. “Surely my father the king knows nothing of your poverty. Something could be done.”

“Christine!” a voice cried in the distance. “Marie-Christine, your highness!” She rose and turned in the direction of the deep male voice. She knew who was coming, she had heard nothing but his voice in her head since she first met him.

He broke the crowd, a veritable giant above the women. “Christine, what are doing here?” he asked. Somewhere in the back of her head, she wondered why he was being so familiar... and so concerned. “You could've been hurt.”

She dried her tears. “Yes, I suppose I could have.” She looked up at him, and, surprisingly, was unafraid. An unexplainable sensation had come over her when she saw his form, when she heard his voice, and she felt oddly drawn to the him. Her words came to her as a sigh, “I didn't though.” Marie-Christine, you are a fool. Mother always warned you about people like these. Rough, pathetic peasants. They have no right nor reason to live, except to pay our taxes.

But they have no money to pay with. They have nothing...

“Please, monsieur, I'd like to go home.” He'll never let me go.

“Are you taking Jean-Phillippe with you?” he asked, and she thought she saw a hint of a smile play on his lips.

“Oh!” she cried, and gave the little boy back to his mother with an apologetic smile. The older woman looked at her strangely when she took her child, and Christine did not want to let him go. He had dozed off in her arms, and now that they were empty, they felt heavy and cumbersome to her. She tried to shake the feeling, wondering what was happening to her. “Now may we go?”

“Perhaps. Come.” He placed a hand on her back, and she felt a chill skitter up and down her spine. She closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them, she would be in the ballroom, believing everything that her parents had ever told her about the common people. But the strong hand on her back did not move, and the faces of those people did not fade...

“Monsieur?” She stopped, turning to look at him. “Monsieur, what can I do to help you?”

He, too, stopped. “What do you mean?”

“I want to help. I want to tell my parents about you, about the poverty that has obviously taken over France. I want to do my part. Monsieur, how can I live in Versailles when my people (or the people who will someday be mine to rule) stay here and suffer? What kind of ruler would I be if I allowed that to happen?”

Silence suddenly ruled supreme in the street. She waited for his answer, and when it came, it was softer than a summer's breeze. “Please call me Maurice, Christine.” He paused again, as if he didn't know what to say. When finally he spoke, his voice was strangled, as if he were trying not to cry. “My lady,” he whispered, “When I began this, I thought it would be easy. I would lure you, kidnap you, or somehow rescue you from the palace and hold you for ransom.” He sighed. “You've not made it that simple. I never dreamed that you would be so sweet. I thought you were another careless snob. I thought... so many things. Now I can think only one thing, that if your parents are like you in any way, then this will not be hard. Not if they are as gentle, as kind, as beautiful...” he stopped, tripping over the words that spilled from his mouth.

Christine stared at him, finding herself mesmerized and intrigued by the emotions that poured forth from Maurice's honest soul. “Maurice, will you come with me? Come talk to my father. He will listen to you.” She touched his arm lightly, reveling in this sweet, precious, new feeling that came over her every time she was near him. She was wondering what would happen if... Christine, you don't dare! You're not a common harlot, you don't... She couldn't resist any longer. As she gazed into his deep, unending eyes, she realized that he had his arms around her and apparently had the same idea that she did...

Their lips met in a blaze of passion and glory that would've made Aphrodite envy them, and suddenly Christine didn't care that Maurice was a mere peasant, or that she had a wealthy fiance waiting for her at the palace. All she wanted was to be held by her dark god for the rest of her days, and she knew that he felt the same way about her. She wanted to be with him forever...

* * * * * * *

It was not possible. She had to go back to the palace. She went with a heavy heart, bidding Maurice good-bye with a tender kiss and promising to meet him soon.

The glimmering diamonds and gold of the palace did not seem like home to her anymore. She had only been gone for five days, but already the sparkle and glitter seemed foreign. You've spent too much time in the gutters, Christine, she thought, but she knew she was wrong. She lived in a magnificent house that could've housed half the population of Paris, while those poor people shivered in the cold of the oncoming night with nothing but the clothing on their backs. It was wrong, and she hated it.

She had spent every ounce of her time away with Maurice and his mother in their little hut, and, while nothing untoward had happened between them, she blushed and smiled every time she thought of those precious hours with them. They were kind, genuine people who merely wanted a chance to live! And she was going to give it to them.

As she walked through the Hall of Mirrors, she paused to glance at herself. Her ladies of the chamber had immediately set to work combing her long, unruly hair and lacing her into a clean gown of palest rose that made the blush of her cheeks even rosier. She felt like a traitor for wearing the fancy things, and marveled that the things she had grown up with and had loved were now disgusting and frightening to her. But! When one meets with the king and queen, one must be presentable...

And presentable she was. She waited patiently outside her father's grande salon while one of his lords announced her, not knowing if he would be happy to see her or angry that she had disappeared. She looked at the hallway through new eyes. The gold looked bizarrely overdone, as would a golden carriage outside Maurice's home. The gods who had once seemed to frolic now looked like lost, lonely children in the painted wisps of cloud floating above her head. They seemed to weep for the people as she did, knowing that they could do nothing while stuck in the ceiling.

“My lady, his majesty will see you now.” the lord announced, reappearing. She took a deep breath and raised her head high.

“My lord,” she whispered as she bent in a deep curtsy to her father.

“Yes, child?” he asked, motioning for her to rise. “I have not seen you around the palace of late. Have you been ill?”

She gasped. “No, mon pere, I have been away for over a week! I've been in Paris, Papa, and I must speak to you of urgent matters.”

“Child, you have such an imagination. You must learn to tame it, or your husband may find you dull.” He scratched himself with his perfectly manicured hands.

“I have not imagined a thing.” Her gaze became steely and fierce. She remembered how she had felt when Georgette had screeched at her in the middle of the street that first day, and how afraid she had been. She remembered the looks of despair of the peoples' faces, how hopeless they seemed, and she became angry. “Papa, your people are starving. They hate you, your majesty. Some want to kill you! I would not blame them, seeing how they live, if I did not know that you want the best for your realm. The people need you. They march and plan, Papa, and will soon come to kill all that we know if you do not do something!”

“They are just peasants, Christine. Commoners. What do I care of their plans and marches? I am the king! They cannot touch me.”

“Do you not care for them at all? Do you not care for me?” She began to weep. “Do you not care for the people that I love? If you do not care for them for yourself, can you not bring yourself to care for them because of me?”

The king looked his daughter in the eye. “Christine, you are too young to care about such things. Someday you will be queen, and then you will understand. Such things happen, and must be dealt with in the proper fashion. I have already sent soldiers to do away with those pathetic young men who think that they can do what they please. I have sufficiently squashed all rumors of revolution as my guards have squashed the heads of the common fools.”

“What?” she whispered. She felt sick, and her breath would not come to her. Maurice! her heart cried. “Please tell me you're lying, Father.”

“I don't see what you are so upset about, Christine. They are just people! Would you sacrifice your jewels to feed their children? Would you give your gowns to the poverty-stricken whores who run rampant in the streets? I think not.”

“Yes, I would,” she whispered. Tears clogged her throat, and she tried not to think of Maurice lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

“What?” The king's voice turned sharp. “You've changed, Marie-Christine. You've changed a lot in the past few days. Where is my obedient daughter who spends hours every day brushing her hair? What happened to my little beauty?”

“I am not little anymore. And I do not care to be a belle for any man, save one. I plan to be married, Father, and not to the Comte de Marseilles."

“Cease this babbling at once, young woman!” his words sliced through the air like a rapier. “I will have no more talk of disobedience to the crown! You marry whom I say, when I say, and you do not interfere with matters of the crown. You are not the crown! You are not king! I rule this court, and I will do what I please with the people I rule over!”

“No.” Christine's voice was quiet. It was no more than a whisper, but the king's angry words lost all power when compared to its burning passion. “No, you are not all that you think yourself. You are weak, Father, and I know now you are wrong. You always have been.”

“Christine...”

“Let me finish! I am leaving. I will not be your princess as long as you continue to treat the rest of the world like dirt beneath your silk-covered feet. You may wear the crown, but all of the gold in the world will never buy you happiness. Your majestic palace will never buy you the peoples' joy and pride. They will hate you as long as you continue to hide away in this gilded cage, throwing parties and seducing young ladies of the court into being your mistresses. No. They will hate you, and Father, I will stand with them. Now, I am through. Summon your guards if you must. But I will leave, one way or another. My daughter's heart loves you, mon pere, but my mind and the rest of who I am will never cease to fight against you and the dreadful tyranny that you command here.” She paused, praying that she would not weep.

“Good-bye, Papa,” she whispered, turning on her heel and leaving his chambers and his life forever.

Maurice waited for her in the place they had agreed upon, in the park where they had first met. She prayed the whole way that he had not been caught by the soldiers, and when she knelt by the bench and saw his familiar eyes, she wept with relief. And he held her tight, vowing once again that he would never let her go. Their brief reunion ended with an alert from the watchtower.

“Guards!” a cry echoed across the vast grounds like a roar, “The king has ordered the princess's capture and swift return... dead or alive! Find her!”

Maurice and Christine looked at each other. “Christine, my dear, shall we run for our lives?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, let's.” Footsteps began to come towards them, and they ran as quickly as they could. Leaves crackled. Branches snapped. They couldn't conceal themselves anywhere! There was nowhere to go!

Then all sound stopped. They were outside the palace, escaped without knowing through Maurice's favorite secret passage. “Maurice, I thought you were dead!” Christine whispered, her chest heaving from the run. Maurice crushed her to him, running his fingers through her loose hair.

“Never, my love.”

“Just hold me,” she murmured, beginning to sob gently. “Hold me, and never let me go...”
And he did just that. He held his love closer than he had ever held her before, stroking her brow with his callused fingers. It was not until they both calmed down that Christine saw where she was, and when she did, she let out a little cry. “Maurice!” the sound was softer than the cry of a kitten. He looked where she pointed, and his heart plummeted.

They lay in the middle of an alley. This was no surprise to Maurice, but he had never seen the place as it was now....

Blood stained the dirt at their feet. All around them, innocent people lay slain. The young revolutionaries Francois and Guillaume lay on the ground by their wives, their expressions protective and brave to the end. Blood pooled from the gaping wounds in their chests, and bones stuck through the punctured skin. Flesh seemed to hang from the faces and bodies of other young men who had been mercilessly slain. But the most heart-wrenching murder was the one that lay beneath a pile of dead women. There, with its tiny hand outstretched to the world, the unborn child of the woman Georgette reached for the life that it would never know. The tiny fingers were perfectly formed as they reached towards the light, life, and love that it would never know.

Maurice wept. He wept for his friends, for the women, for the innocent children who had done nothing wrong. His tears mingled with the blood on the ground, and the dirt became even muddier. His mother was dead, too. She died trying to protect Georgette and her child...
“Father,” Christine whispered knowingly, kneeling beside Maurice. Her face, too, was streaked with tears. She could speak no more.

Somewhere, a child was crying. Somewhere, a little one had survived. Where? She could not tell. But she rose and stepped carefully and reverently over the dead mother and her baby. There was one who might still be saved and loved. There was one...

Jean-Phillippe. The silent child was speaking to her heart, and she heard his voice loud and clear. “Jean?” she whispered, fearing to disturb the dead about her feet. The cry grew louder, and she stepped over a few more corpses. Antoinette. Jeanette. Sophie. They were all there. Dead.
Still, the child wept. It did not take long to find him... On the very edge of the street lay Anne, and, weeping into his dead mother's skirts, was Jean. He was covered in his mother's blood from head to toe, and his cry was hoarse. He had cried for many hours...

Christine knelt, and his cries became sobs. “Come, my child,” she whispered, lifting him into her arms. Maurice still knelt on the ground by his deceased friends. But Christine, surveying the field of the dead, felt more hope than despair. She would bury them all, but the spirit of truth, honesty, and justice that they stood for would rise again. No sword could cut the throat of freedom – ever.

* * * * * * *

As she lay beneath the tree, trying to keep Jean from babbling, she began to hum softly. It was just a simple song, a marching song that she had heard Maurice sing. It had come from the revolutionaries in Marseilles as they marched from their city to her Paris... She could hear it sung in the distance, and her heart sang with her. “Alons, enfants de la Patrie. La jour de gloire est arrive!” Arise, children of the fatherland. The day of glory has come.