Possibly looking to collaborate?
Posted: 14 Sep 2014, 08:38
by BirdyTheBrave
So... I have been wanting to write a fanfic for a while now, but I lack the time, my schedule is hectic. However, I was thinking about maybe writing in collaboration with someone else... I usually only write short stories, but I am able to dedicate myself to a longer one if necessary.
For those who may be interested, here is a piece of writing I made up a while back. I think I have already posted it on here somewhere, but it is the only one I can be bothered to dig up at the moment.
For those who may be interested, here is a piece of writing I made up a while back. I think I have already posted it on here somewhere, but it is the only one I can be bothered to dig up at the moment.
Spoiler: click to toggle
This is not a fairytale. A fairytale is a made-up story where there’s a beautiful princess who usually gets herself in a bit of a muddle, and then there’s some dashing prince who will ride in and save the day, before they both go back to a big la-di-da palace where they live happily ever after, the end.
Like I said, this is not a fairytale.
This is an actual real-life story about actual real-life people. Or more specifically, this is a story about a girl.
But not your ordinary, everyday girl. You see, there was something extra-special about Zinnia Matilda. She was the one human that fascinated me from the very start. Just the way she sat, knees together, toes slightly pointed out, big grey eyes dreamily gazing into space, into a world where stars dance and everyone is happy. I would sit just next to Zinnia, and she would tell me what she was dreaming about, what was on her mind. Whoever she told about me rather blatantly refused to believe I was real, and what they didn't know was, that I am. Sometimes I think even Zinnia had doubts about me, but we sat and talked just the same. That’s what I like so much about Zinnia Matilda. I had no choice but to like her really, because I was destined to stay with her for the entire length of her life, whether I wanted to or not, so I am particularly lucky that I DO like her. She was my best friend, and I was her best friend. Which is funny, really, because she’s the only one who can’t see me. Yes, everyone else could see me, but to them, I was just a… a “thing”. No one could have guessed that I was alive, and that I could move, breathe and talk just the same as everybody else does.
But Zinnia did.
We used to go everywhere together, she and I. We went to school together, we went to her doctors appointments together, we even went swimming together. I was there for all her greatest moments, her highest highs and her lowest lows. I was there for her first birthday, her first day of high school, her first job interview and the day she graduated from university. She was extremely smart, Zinnia was, and remarkably pretty. She had little brown curls that bounced around her smooth, rosy cheeks, and a dimple just under her left eye that showed when she smiled, which was alot. She had a beautiful warm smile, one that made you feel like you were a child again, at home in your mother’s arms, drinking a hot chocolate with extra froth on top, the amount that gives you a moustache to make even Father Christmas jealous.
But, even with her brain and her beauty, Zinnia never found someone to share her life with. Never got married, never had children. Some people said that she died lonely, but I knew it was quite the opposite. She told me many times, when I asked her why she lived alone.
“I’m not alone, Birdie, I have you!”
And then we would laugh and talk and sip our coffees like old ladies, but secretly, I was worried for her. Worried that she might never find someone to look after her the way she needed. Yet, Zinnia wasn’t like that. She was always convinced that she didn't need any help, regardless of the condition that had haunted her throughout childhood, and through her whole life, despite doctors’ best attempts and their latest technology. But Zinnia didn't mind. It was something she had learnt to deal with, and the most important thing was that it didn't change her as a person. If anything, it had made her a better one. It had given her a love for all things beautiful. Not the beauty of which you find in a Miss Universe competition, but the kind found in music, in nature, in words. Many a night, we would sneak down to the beach, and we would stand on the edge of the water and let it run between our warm toes as we looked up at the stars, letting the serenity cleanse our tired souls. Often I would look over at Zinnia, and she wouldn't even have her eyes open. Then, quietly, she would ask me:
“The stars, Birdie. What do YOU think they look like?”
I would pause to consider.
“I think they’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Zin.”
And then we would both squeeze our eyes tight shut, but if I sneaked another look over at Zinnia, I could see, in the full moon’s light, the dimple under her left eye that only showed when she was truly happy.
I spent my entire life with Zinnia Matilda. Wherever she went, I went with her. Except for at nighttime. At nighttime, if it wasn't full moon, I had to let her go. I slipped away with the last rays of sunlight as they shrunk back behind the horizon, continuing their endless journey around the earth.
On those nights, I became a part of the darkness.
The first few times after I left, Zinnia cried. Because I was gone, and because of the terrible nightmares that haunted her every night. I wanted to stay with her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright, I really did. But I couldn't. As hard as I tried, the darkness was too strong. That was almost always how it was.
Except for one night, when I said goodbye for good. I lay in the brightly-lit hospital bed with Zinnia, as her small family gathered around, crying. I didn't cry. Because I knew that the part of me that always worried about her was going to be put to rest. Because I knew that Zinnia would finally be at peace.
I gazed over at her, her wispy white hair framing her pale, slightly smiling face. Suddenly, Zinnia Matilda looked more beautiful than ever.
I held her hand as she took her last breath.
I felt her try and hang on to the last strands of life, but death’s icy winds blew them away, one by one.
Slowly, Zinnia’s soul drifted from her body, and we both floated to the window. Then she took my hand.
And we flew.
We flew up, past the clouds, beyond the moon, where we finally came to rest, and stood, gazing at the stars. The stars Zinnia had spent her whole life dreaming about, yet had never seen.
I could feel her fading. She didn't need me anymore, not where she was going. I looked over at her alarmingly translucent figure, and for the last time, we hugged eachother close.
“Zinnia?” I croaked, tears stinging my tired eyes, as I knew this was goodbye.
Zinnia smiled at me.
“Did you have a good life?”
She sighed.
“No, Birdie, it was more than that,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “It was perfect.”
And then she vanished.
So in a way, we did live happily ever after. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:
This is not a fairytale.
This is a story about a remarkable little blind girl called Zinnia Matilda.
And me. Her shadow.
Anyway, thank you for your time, and god bless Like I said, this is not a fairytale.
This is an actual real-life story about actual real-life people. Or more specifically, this is a story about a girl.
But not your ordinary, everyday girl. You see, there was something extra-special about Zinnia Matilda. She was the one human that fascinated me from the very start. Just the way she sat, knees together, toes slightly pointed out, big grey eyes dreamily gazing into space, into a world where stars dance and everyone is happy. I would sit just next to Zinnia, and she would tell me what she was dreaming about, what was on her mind. Whoever she told about me rather blatantly refused to believe I was real, and what they didn't know was, that I am. Sometimes I think even Zinnia had doubts about me, but we sat and talked just the same. That’s what I like so much about Zinnia Matilda. I had no choice but to like her really, because I was destined to stay with her for the entire length of her life, whether I wanted to or not, so I am particularly lucky that I DO like her. She was my best friend, and I was her best friend. Which is funny, really, because she’s the only one who can’t see me. Yes, everyone else could see me, but to them, I was just a… a “thing”. No one could have guessed that I was alive, and that I could move, breathe and talk just the same as everybody else does.
But Zinnia did.
We used to go everywhere together, she and I. We went to school together, we went to her doctors appointments together, we even went swimming together. I was there for all her greatest moments, her highest highs and her lowest lows. I was there for her first birthday, her first day of high school, her first job interview and the day she graduated from university. She was extremely smart, Zinnia was, and remarkably pretty. She had little brown curls that bounced around her smooth, rosy cheeks, and a dimple just under her left eye that showed when she smiled, which was alot. She had a beautiful warm smile, one that made you feel like you were a child again, at home in your mother’s arms, drinking a hot chocolate with extra froth on top, the amount that gives you a moustache to make even Father Christmas jealous.
But, even with her brain and her beauty, Zinnia never found someone to share her life with. Never got married, never had children. Some people said that she died lonely, but I knew it was quite the opposite. She told me many times, when I asked her why she lived alone.
“I’m not alone, Birdie, I have you!”
And then we would laugh and talk and sip our coffees like old ladies, but secretly, I was worried for her. Worried that she might never find someone to look after her the way she needed. Yet, Zinnia wasn’t like that. She was always convinced that she didn't need any help, regardless of the condition that had haunted her throughout childhood, and through her whole life, despite doctors’ best attempts and their latest technology. But Zinnia didn't mind. It was something she had learnt to deal with, and the most important thing was that it didn't change her as a person. If anything, it had made her a better one. It had given her a love for all things beautiful. Not the beauty of which you find in a Miss Universe competition, but the kind found in music, in nature, in words. Many a night, we would sneak down to the beach, and we would stand on the edge of the water and let it run between our warm toes as we looked up at the stars, letting the serenity cleanse our tired souls. Often I would look over at Zinnia, and she wouldn't even have her eyes open. Then, quietly, she would ask me:
“The stars, Birdie. What do YOU think they look like?”
I would pause to consider.
“I think they’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Zin.”
And then we would both squeeze our eyes tight shut, but if I sneaked another look over at Zinnia, I could see, in the full moon’s light, the dimple under her left eye that only showed when she was truly happy.
I spent my entire life with Zinnia Matilda. Wherever she went, I went with her. Except for at nighttime. At nighttime, if it wasn't full moon, I had to let her go. I slipped away with the last rays of sunlight as they shrunk back behind the horizon, continuing their endless journey around the earth.
On those nights, I became a part of the darkness.
The first few times after I left, Zinnia cried. Because I was gone, and because of the terrible nightmares that haunted her every night. I wanted to stay with her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright, I really did. But I couldn't. As hard as I tried, the darkness was too strong. That was almost always how it was.
Except for one night, when I said goodbye for good. I lay in the brightly-lit hospital bed with Zinnia, as her small family gathered around, crying. I didn't cry. Because I knew that the part of me that always worried about her was going to be put to rest. Because I knew that Zinnia would finally be at peace.
I gazed over at her, her wispy white hair framing her pale, slightly smiling face. Suddenly, Zinnia Matilda looked more beautiful than ever.
I held her hand as she took her last breath.
I felt her try and hang on to the last strands of life, but death’s icy winds blew them away, one by one.
Slowly, Zinnia’s soul drifted from her body, and we both floated to the window. Then she took my hand.
And we flew.
We flew up, past the clouds, beyond the moon, where we finally came to rest, and stood, gazing at the stars. The stars Zinnia had spent her whole life dreaming about, yet had never seen.
I could feel her fading. She didn't need me anymore, not where she was going. I looked over at her alarmingly translucent figure, and for the last time, we hugged eachother close.
“Zinnia?” I croaked, tears stinging my tired eyes, as I knew this was goodbye.
Zinnia smiled at me.
“Did you have a good life?”
She sighed.
“No, Birdie, it was more than that,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “It was perfect.”
And then she vanished.
So in a way, we did live happily ever after. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:
This is not a fairytale.
This is a story about a remarkable little blind girl called Zinnia Matilda.
And me. Her shadow.
maybe a mixture of a few genres: adventure, friendship, romance? I am open to any suggestions.