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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 11/19/2010
The Prince, Peasant, and Prophesy
Born 1997, F, from Canoga Park, California, United StatesStella trudged down the slippery dirt road to Hiina. Her frizzy gray hair whipped in the furious wind. Her cloak twisted around her clunky torso. Her wandering eyes were focused on the dim glow of the village. Rain pounded on her bare head. This was strange weather for Gulm. But it suited the occasions of the day. Stella's finger absently wandered to the leather sheath strapped to her thigh. Yes, it was still there, pondering about the cruel task that it had just committed. His eyes were wild with fear. "Please, Stella. Don't do this," Prince Derek had plead fearfully. Stella's frail fingers were clenched tightly around the silver dagger gleaming wickedly in the setting sun. "Please." Stella's heart throbbed for him. He had trusted her. She had been his nurse for nineteen years. But...an order was an order. "Derek," she whimpered, her voice trembling," I just want you to know that...I didn't plan this murder. It was the king." Derek gasped. "Father-" was Derek's last word before the dagger was plunged into his chest. "Don't...let him...hurt...Miriam."
Stella's throat tightened. King Fredrick was a cruel man. He allowed the murder of his son to take place. The moaning of the wind awakened her from her daze. The faint glow of the provincial town was becoming brighter and brighter. The street lamps cast an eerie glow on the sides of the straw huts. She could just hear the soft snores of the unsuspecting peasants. They did not realize the importance of this night. Stella listened intently for something to direct her to the exact straw hut she was searching for. Her ears perked to the slight whimpers of a girl. She squinted her eyes to see the dimly lit hut. She sauntered towards the cottage. The whimpers turned into desperate cries. This was the place. She burst the door open. A seventeen year-old girl with pleading brown eyes was strewn on a cot. "Are you the midwife?" she asked wildly. Stella crouched close to where her scrawny legs parted. Blood streamed down her legs. She could just see the tiny crown of the baby. Stella stole a glance at the girl. "She is pretty," she mused. The girl's wavy brown hair was damp with sweat. Her wide brown eyes were filled with fear. But her silent beauty shone through. "Poor girl," Stella thought to herself, "she was drawn into Derek's charm." Derek had been a suave charmer. But he usually kept to himself when other girls threw themselves at him. Stella could just remember the exact moment when Derek had met this girl. They were riding through town on business. Derek was staring absentmindedly out the window. He had been eighteen then. Stella was crocheting a doily for the dining room. Derek's eyes darted all over the village. Out of the corner of her eye, Stella could spot Derek's eyebrows raising in interest. Stella's eyes wandered towards the window where Derek stared intently. A girl, no older than sixteen, was sauntering down the road. She was fairly pretty, for a peasant. Now Stella understood his true interest in her.
(Stella's point of view)
After a few hours of trial and error, two precious infants were cooing in the tiny hut. "Hello, Narissa," Miriam cooed, "I am your mother." I held the boy, Kason, in my arms. He looked exactly like his father. Blazing red threads protruded out of his cinnamon, bald scalp. His eyes were a shade of iceberg blue. His sister bared almost no resemblance to their father. She had Miriam's chestnut locks and jade green eyes. She had a quite pasty complexion. I could just make out the faint beating of horse hooves and the slamming of boots against the slushy dirt. They were coming for them. Kason balled his tiny fist around my index finger. I glanced at his sister who was snoozing comfortably in her mother's thin arms. Miriam would be devasted if the soldiers were to make it here before I could do something to protect the newborns. The distant sounds were coming closer and closer. "Miriam," I blurted out suddenly,
"Fredrick is coming for Narissa and Kason." Miriam's eyes filled with tears. "Stella," she sobbed, "don't let them hurt my babies." I knew what I was about to do was right. I snatched up a scrap of blanket and stuffed it with straw. "I need to take Kason with me," I told the trembling Miriam, "but I promise to keep him safe." Miriam nodded sadly. She kissed Kason's delicate forehead. "I love you, my little boy. Good-bye." Tears streamed down her bony cheeks. "Be safe, my love." Kason clenched his fingers around his mother's thumb. "Maaa," he cooed. I hated to do it, but I parted the loving scene. "Braaatha!" Narissa howled. "Braatha!" My eyes, too, welled with tears. "I am doing this for their sake," I told myself. I creaked the door open on its hinges, awaiting the king who murdered his son.
To be continued...
The Prince, Peasant, and Prophesy(Geraldine Vesper)
Stella trudged down the slippery dirt road to Hiina. Her frizzy gray hair whipped in the furious wind. Her cloak twisted around her clunky torso. Her wandering eyes were focused on the dim glow of the village. Rain pounded on her bare head. This was strange weather for Gulm. But it suited the occasions of the day. Stella's finger absently wandered to the leather sheath strapped to her thigh. Yes, it was still there, pondering about the cruel task that it had just committed. His eyes were wild with fear. "Please, Stella. Don't do this," Prince Derek had plead fearfully. Stella's frail fingers were clenched tightly around the silver dagger gleaming wickedly in the setting sun. "Please." Stella's heart throbbed for him. He had trusted her. She had been his nurse for nineteen years. But...an order was an order. "Derek," she whimpered, her voice trembling," I just want you to know that...I didn't plan this murder. It was the king." Derek gasped. "Father-" was Derek's last word before the dagger was plunged into his chest. "Don't...let him...hurt...Miriam."
Stella's throat tightened. King Fredrick was a cruel man. He allowed the murder of his son to take place. The moaning of the wind awakened her from her daze. The faint glow of the provincial town was becoming brighter and brighter. The street lamps cast an eerie glow on the sides of the straw huts. She could just hear the soft snores of the unsuspecting peasants. They did not realize the importance of this night. Stella listened intently for something to direct her to the exact straw hut she was searching for. Her ears perked to the slight whimpers of a girl. She squinted her eyes to see the dimly lit hut. She sauntered towards the cottage. The whimpers turned into desperate cries. This was the place. She burst the door open. A seventeen year-old girl with pleading brown eyes was strewn on a cot. "Are you the midwife?" she asked wildly. Stella crouched close to where her scrawny legs parted. Blood streamed down her legs. She could just see the tiny crown of the baby. Stella stole a glance at the girl. "She is pretty," she mused. The girl's wavy brown hair was damp with sweat. Her wide brown eyes were filled with fear. But her silent beauty shone through. "Poor girl," Stella thought to herself, "she was drawn into Derek's charm." Derek had been a suave charmer. But he usually kept to himself when other girls threw themselves at him. Stella could just remember the exact moment when Derek had met this girl. They were riding through town on business. Derek was staring absentmindedly out the window. He had been eighteen then. Stella was crocheting a doily for the dining room. Derek's eyes darted all over the village. Out of the corner of her eye, Stella could spot Derek's eyebrows raising in interest. Stella's eyes wandered towards the window where Derek stared intently. A girl, no older than sixteen, was sauntering down the road. She was fairly pretty, for a peasant. Now Stella understood his true interest in her.
(Stella's point of view)
After a few hours of trial and error, two precious infants were cooing in the tiny hut. "Hello, Narissa," Miriam cooed, "I am your mother." I held the boy, Kason, in my arms. He looked exactly like his father. Blazing red threads protruded out of his cinnamon, bald scalp. His eyes were a shade of iceberg blue. His sister bared almost no resemblance to their father. She had Miriam's chestnut locks and jade green eyes. She had a quite pasty complexion. I could just make out the faint beating of horse hooves and the slamming of boots against the slushy dirt. They were coming for them. Kason balled his tiny fist around my index finger. I glanced at his sister who was snoozing comfortably in her mother's thin arms. Miriam would be devasted if the soldiers were to make it here before I could do something to protect the newborns. The distant sounds were coming closer and closer. "Miriam," I blurted out suddenly,
"Fredrick is coming for Narissa and Kason." Miriam's eyes filled with tears. "Stella," she sobbed, "don't let them hurt my babies." I knew what I was about to do was right. I snatched up a scrap of blanket and stuffed it with straw. "I need to take Kason with me," I told the trembling Miriam, "but I promise to keep him safe." Miriam nodded sadly. She kissed Kason's delicate forehead. "I love you, my little boy. Good-bye." Tears streamed down her bony cheeks. "Be safe, my love." Kason clenched his fingers around his mother's thumb. "Maaa," he cooed. I hated to do it, but I parted the loving scene. "Braaatha!" Narissa howled. "Braatha!" My eyes, too, welled with tears. "I am doing this for their sake," I told myself. I creaked the door open on its hinges, awaiting the king who murdered his son.
To be continued...
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