Hello, World! Welcome to The Repercussions of Being Me by Veronica Mitchell where you may be subjected to complaining about many things you can relate to and maybe some you can't, I make no promises on that matter. I do, however, hope that no matter how much I complain you can find humor. To those of you who are finding me through fanfiction I thank you very deeply and I do hope to get some of my work up on here as well.
Now, you may be wondering the point of this blog. Well, join the club. As far I'm concerned it could go from rant to poetry to putting up class work to back to ranting. Speaking of class work (not that we were), as my first post to tell you something about me I was going to put up a poem that I wrote for class as soon as my teacher gave it back but she gave a grade but she didn't give us back the actual poem. I was so pissed. As I replacement I am posting a short story that I also had to write for class but it didn't turn out that bad. It's not the best but it's the only short story I've written recently so here is Mischief.
Bonnie was seven when she and her family moved to Savannah Georgia and into the mansion-like house that had sat uninhabited for many years. The green moss, gray siding and unkempt yard were intimidating to Bonnie’s twin brother, Brian, but to her it looked like an old castle bursting with adventure.
Box by box they unpacked. The twins went off to look for rooms – well, Bonnie went in search of the best room she could find with Brian decided to take the room next to one of their older brothers, Tom. So explore she did; up and down the old wooden stairs, leaving footprints and handprints as she went along, walking through cobwebs, opening long ago faded curtains and finding a series of keys she was determined to reunite with their partners . . . later because Bonnie Blue Eyes was on the hunt for the best room in what she was beginning to think of as her castle.
Far into the West Wing of her new home Bonnie found what she was looking for after walking through a series of cobweb infested, narrow back halls. The room was twice the size of most she’d past with a bed guarded by navy curtains; deep cherry night stands stood at attention under a layer of dust an inch thick, the wooden floor was covered by a faded rug that would have looked cozy by the light of the fireplace and contrasted drastically with the cold white floor of the en suite where a claw footed tub stood proudly.
What really drew the girl’s attention was the piece of paper that was seemingly stuck in the wall like a knife perfectly thrown. The paper was yellowed with time but shined to Bonnie who gingerly walked over, as if thinking she would startle it if she moved too fast or made too much noise. When she was within reaching distance she plucked it out as fast as she could, holding on tightly as if it would attempt to flee. With a squeal of excitement she opened the long ago written note and read, to the best of her ability, the following:
To whoever is interesting or curious,
This is my room, a place where I spent many days and nights looking at the stars dreaming but, most importantly, where I wrote. Not here exactly, of course, because it’s against too many rules. Follow through my door to the tales untold and share what I could not.
Forever Truly,
Sarah
Bonnie, never one to refuse a plea so desperate, put her small fingers into the crack of the secret door and pulled slightly. On surprisingly well-oiled hinges the door opened silently. Inside was a simple room about a fourth the size of the bedroom, there was a quaint desk in the same dark cherry as the connecting room. In the center of the room was the bookshelf, reaching the ceiling it was easily eight feet tall by about five feet across and there was no telling how deep it was because it was overflowing with leather bound journals, their blank spines a testimony to their originality and lonely existence.
“Bonnie! Oh, for crying out loud! Of course she would wander all over the house and look at all fifty bedrooms before picking just one. Bonnie!” The young girls’ mother yelled as she walked past the bedroom door. Bonnie ran after mother as fast as she could, carefully making sure to leave the secret door open.
“Mom, wait up!” The little girl yelled after the taller, older woman whose fiery red hair was so similar to her own.
“Bonnie where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you! You know, when said pick a room we kind of meant close to everyone else,” the woman said once the seven year old had caught up.
The little girl looked away and murmured, “Well, I’ve been, umm, around. And I - ”
“Around where, little miss?”
“Everywhere,” the suddenly shy girl mumbled.
Her mother sighed, accustomed to her daughter’s curious, adventurous, absolutely exasperating behavior. “Well, at least it explains how you managed to get all those spider webs in your hair. Now, what did you find? A room I hope.”
The freckled young girl nodded excitedly before grabbing her mother’s hand leading her back to the newly rediscovered room, Sarah’s room. Releasing her mother’s hand, the little explorer went to the hidden room and held the panel for her mother, who stood in aghast bewilderment. “Bonnie what . . . . ? How . . . . . ?”
Without a word the little girl with curly, red hair, freckles and kind, blue eyes held the letter, yellowed with age, containing the secrets of a girl long dead. Slowly, heeding the fragile, weathered paper the older woman too and opened the letter; reading the words left by a girl with too many rules to follow and enough untold thoughts to fell the dozens of leather bound books she’d hidden. Bonnie’s mother looked into the darkened room and looked past the dust, grime, cobwebs and time itself to see Sarah writing by candle light, seeing a girl with enough courage to write and enough sense to hide it.
“Mama, will you read me one?” Bonnie asked her mother.
“Yes, Bonnie, we should read them and share them with the world like Sarah would’ve wanted.” And they did
I hope you enjoyed it and hopefully I'll post again soon.
Good Night,
Veronica Mitchell
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