One thing I realize about myself is that many people don't know I'm a writer...yes, I blog and write about life and stirrings of the soul.
But long before any of that began, I have always always written stories. Of other worlds and adventures and happenings...storytelling is in my blood - has been for as long as I can remember. Now as an upperclassman, I'm finally taking a creative writing class (I'm minoring in it), and it's as sweet and easy as breathing.
I thought I'd share the story I'm currently working on for the class: a modern day retelling of Beauty and the Beast, set in New York city. It's a story of gang wars, an old ivy-covered house in Brooklyn, secret subway tunnels, a man who hides in the shadows, and how beauty is found in the ordinary. If you follow me on Pinterest, you've seen my storyboard for it.
(the song that inspired this story)
Enjoy, friends...I hope you like this other side of me.
___________________________________________________________
‘Love and Hate
are beasts,
and
the one that grows is the one you feed.’
~Shane Koyczan~
Years
later, Alina Barra would think that it was the rain’s fault when looking back
on that day. Because if it hadn’t been raining – if it had been a cool, sunny
January day, her life wouldn’t have changed. She would have remained an
ordinary, introverted twenty-two year old with a hunger for old books.
She
wouldn’t have sighed, opened her faded navy umbrella, and peered anxiously at
the swollen, grey sky framed by slim skyscrapers. Wet, cold winter days were
commonplace in New York. But on that particular day, rain proved a threat to
her canvas bag holding several eighth editions of Tennyson’s In Memoriam.
If
it wasn’t for the rain, she wouldn’t have tucked a strand of brown hair behind
her ear and decided to take a shortcut instead of her usual route back home.
She wouldn’t have ended up on the corner of 23nd and 6th at the exact moment a
particularly forceful gust of rain bent her umbrella backwards with a snap. She wouldn’t have ignored the
“Closed for Construction” sign and ducked under the tape into the nearby subway
stairs to keep the precious books dry.
She
wouldn’t have been too distracted by the stupid rain dripping off her to notice that the subway platform wasn’t
empty – that someone else had also ignored the sign.
That
she wasn’t alone.
It
would always be the rain’s fault.
1
“No,
Iain – please!” A male voice echoed in the empty subway platform, stained with
terror. Desperate, begging.
Alina
paused, broken umbrella in hand. She took a cautious step forward, her boots
squelching as she looked around. Water flooded the grimy brick floor; dust and
neon orange construction cones lined the platform; discarded drills propped on
slabs of concrete; and a thin bar of fluorescents lined the ceiling, flickering
on and off.
“Help!” The voice – a man’s – screamed
again, coming from below her feet. The hard smack of a fist followed by a
shuddering gasp.
Against
her better judgement, Alina took another step forward. She froze.
A
burly middle-aged man struggled on the center of the tracks; thick rope bound
him to the steel slates. Red leaked down the side of his mouth as he panted, his
wild eyes fixed on a calm figure standing above him.
She
couldn’t see the second person’s face, just the gleam of a white-blond buzzcut
and street clothes.
“Iain,
I’m telling you, I don’t know where he
is! I’m on your side, I swear -”
The
man with the buzzcut – Iain - crouched down, inadvertently turning towards
Alina, revealing a hard mouth and a thin face in its twenties.
“Oh,
I know,” Iain mocked. “Why do you think you’re here?” He stood and stepped off
the track. “I like to send messages that he’ll see. And shooting – well, that’s
just juvenile,” he told the man who sagged in relief. He stepped back again.
“Enjoy
the non-stop to Hell.”
Alina
couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare as the eerie, metallic shriek of
the subway pierced the air – rushing, grating, howling down the tracks.
The
captive man’s eyes bulged and he screamed in unison with her as the steel
dragon slammed over him with a sickening rush.
Grey
compartments flickered by – blurs of faces and clothing through the windows –
nameless individuals with no idea of what had just happened – who had just died –
Then
they were gone in a stream of silver metal, the haunting cry of wheels against
tracks fading - and she was still standing.
Numb.
Swaying. Empty, boneless...how was she on her feet? So cold. Was her blood gone
too? Alina shut her eyes...maybe it’d been her on the track, her blood
splattered thickly, her pressed thin and dead - Tennyson’s words rose in her
mind, as if taunting her:
Thou
madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is
on the skull which thou hast made.
Gravel
scattered against metal and her eyes flew open.
On
the other side of the tracks, ice-blue eyes stared back at her in shock;
immediately, they hardened, flying around the empty platform rapidly. A sharp
whistle sliced the air and shadows behind him converged and shifted, sudden
shapes of broad shoulders and shaved heads stepping out of the wall behind
him...no, out of what she thought had been a swirl of red and black graffiti
but was actually a door...
“Get
her!” Iain bellowed.
Her
bag of books hit the floor.
Run.
Alina
staggered back, spinning around; a scream tore from her lips as her feet slid
out from under her in the traitorous puddles of water. Her knees cracked
against sharp brick – get up, get up, oh
God, hurry!
“Get back here!”
She
scrambled up, her heart pounding in her chest painfully, grunts and soft thuds
behind her as the men jumped up on the platform.
Yelling,
dripping water – just make it to the stairs, so close – shrieked profanities -
“Don’t
let her get away – SOMEONE GET ME A GUN!” Iain’s voice screamed, echoing off
the concrete walls.
Alina’s
fingers closed on the stair railing; something hard slammed into her, jerking
her back. She screamed as loud as she could, kicking, punching, her brown hair
mingling with tears in her eyes.
They
dragged her backwards and –
BOOM.
An
ear-splitting clap of what must have been lightning silenced everything for a
moment and the florescents flickered off.
Someone
pushed her down against the edge of the platform and her head exploded with
sharp, searing pain.
The
light flickered back on – suddenly bright and blinding, dirty sneakers moving
closer to her, pain in her ribs – they were kicking her. Wet concrete biting
into her cheek, yells and cat-calls, fingers grabbing at her shirt and coat, flickering
lights - or was that her consciousness flickering in and out?
Alina’s
head lolled to the side, her eyes slipping closed just as the shadows behind
the group of feet shifted again.
Something
roared and sprang forward.
Screams
again – but from the men, not her...heavy thuds of fists and cries of panic.
She lifted her head, trying to sit up. Someone fell on her torso, slamming her
down again onto hardness. Darkness closed over her.
fin.
Gonna be honest: usually when people post story excerpts on their blogs I skim. But here I am at the edge of my seat DYING to know what happens next. Aaaaah!! You've kidnapped my imagination!
ReplyDeleteI just love this, Grace! Thank you so much for sharing this side of yourself with us. I don't know why, but I've always been kind of scared of posting excerpts from any of my stories on my blog… props to you for the courage. :) Also, please give us more… ;)
ReplyDeleteThe Starving Inspired
The Starving Inspired
Grace! I also have seen others post their fiction on their blogs, but yours is the first I've ever finished. I even went back and reread the beginning after I realized what was going on. I am eagerly awaiting the next installment.
ReplyDeleteSarah
Oh my goodness girlie! LOVE this, and the Beyoncé song :) Can't wait to see more!
ReplyDeleteI ADORE it! Do continue!! :D
ReplyDeleteGrace, now I get a taste of what all of those pins mean, and I love it! Very inspiring and gripping! (Oh, and my MC is named Alaina, and I thought that coincidental.)
ReplyDeleteGIVE ME MORE PLEASE. This is great.
ReplyDeleteTell us more!!! Now that you've drawn us in, you can't leave us hanging!! =) It's a fascinating story Grace.
ReplyDelete~Mae
More please?!? This is wonderful, Grace! God bless you!
ReplyDelete