The Gift

*Once again, I've used a prompt. This time, though, I am focused more on the technique: the words, the rhythm, the form. I will be doing more technique writing soon, so stay tuned, and please comment! I love getting feedback. What can I improve on? What do you like? Anything helps!*

I found this on Pinterest and the link lead nowhere. It's not mine.

He gave it to me. He, the boy I had dreamed of for years, had dreamt of me too. He, with those beautiful eyes that express so much. He, the brilliant, responsible, respected boy. The one everyone wanted. The one about whom people would always say, “I’d be proud to call him son,” or “The girl he chooses will be one mighty special girl.” When he was younger, his only sister, a twin, died. They were always together. I overheard him say they’d always be together in the spirit. He forgot no one. He never forgot a promise he’d made. Even if the person he gave the promise to had. He was perfect in every way, even in his faults.  Once, he got angry because a boy kept teasing a girl who’s mom just died. He punched the boy. No one blamed him, but he took his punishment anyway. That boy, he gave me his heart.

He gave it to me. Me, a girl no one ever noticed. The girl who found the corners and contentedly watched others, never talking to people, never attracting people, but deep down inside craving attention. Whose greatest fear was loneliness. I held myself higher than everyone else. I told myself that the reason no one liked me was because they felt they weren’t worthy of me. In reality, I was never worthy of anyone; am not worthy of anyone. My pride had gotten in the way of love. But he broke down that wall in me. I flaunted his love. I showed I was not worthy of it. I acted proudly about it. Only when I had loved in return, truly loved without selfish ambition, only then, could I be worthy of the gift. Me, the one who could never deserve him. He gave me his heart.

He gave it to me. A gift for a lifetime. A gift that could not be re-gifted. To give something insinuates it was given willingly, with no pressure, all of his own freewill. But to give a heart, ah! That means so much more! To give a heart means to give life, to give everything. A heart is something that’s only given when the giver deems the recipient worthy. People say they give their heart, but few truly mean it. It is a gift of trust. To truly give a heart away, the giver gives away everything that he is. He is willing to do anything and everything for love. He does it righteously. To give a heart means to love. And he gave it to me.

An Untitled Dragon Story, Installment/Chapter One: The Dream

Here's another story using a prompt. I think this one will become more of a novel. I have hopes for it. So, here's the first installment. I'm still working on the title.....

The dream came to her again. She was locked up in a tower; a knight stood below fighting a huge dragon. She was watching from a window cheering on one side, but she didn't know which. It was disturbing, and she slept no more that night. For weeks now she had dreamt the same thing. What did it mean?

Ayva rose before the sun and dressed herself. She sat in the window watching the sun rise. As she watched, she saw a procession approach the citadel. It was the caravan that came every year to trade with the citizens of Salthiel. Ayva smiled and hurried downstairs. "Papa! Mamma! The caravan has arrived!" As she turned the corner she ran into her mother coming towards her.

"Don't run, love. You'll hurt yourself." Her mother helped her up and smiled back. "You're awake early. I was just coming to wake you." Mother and daughter walked arm-in-arm to the breakfast room where her father stood waiting.

"Good morning," he said. "The caravan arrives today."

"Yes," Ayva said. "I saw them in the distance. I think they should be here by noon."

"Why did you wake so early? There was no need today. You have no lessons because of the caravan."

"I had a nightmare." Her parents looked at each other with a worried expression. Ayva saw, and was suddenly uncomfortable. She slipped into her seat.

A servant entered by the side door. "Your majesty, a messenger from the caravan is here. He wishes to speak to you. May I send him in?"

"Of course. Ayva, we will talk later."

Formalities. Ayva rolled her eyes. It was the same every year: a messenger came requesting permission to enter and trade, and her father willingly gave it and an invitation to dine.

The messenger bowed. "Your majesties, my lady, Sindri, leader of the Stigandr, sends his greeting. He requests permission of King Emirhan to enter the citadel and to sell and trade the wares of the caravan to your people."

"The kingdom of Salthiel welcomes with joy the caravan of Stigandr, and invites Sindri, leader, to join me tonight in a meal symbolizing our partnership."

When the messenger had left, Emirhan turned to his daughter. "Ayva, Every night you seem to wake from nightmares. Is something troubling you?"

"No, Papa, I cannot think of anything causing the nightmare."

"You speak of them as one. Why is that?"

"Because it is recurring. I am in a high tower overlooking a great plain, and on the plain a silver knight is fighting a dragon. I am cheering for one, but I do not know which. There are peaceful dragons in the land, are there not? The first time I had the dream I was only confused, but it has returned every night for a fortnight. It just disturbs me."

"Perhaps it is just a dream. Try not to think too deeply about it and enjoy yourself today. You can go into town and see the caravan if you wish."

After breakfast Ayva changed into a simple green dress, grabbed her cloak and walked into town. She wandered about the stalls, admired wares, and listened to tales of foreign lands. She saw one booth with a dragon painted on the tent. Glancing around as if worried someone might see she pulled back the tent flap and walked in. A young man about her age was standing over a table with his back to her. Sensing someone in the room he turned.

"Excuse me. I did not hear you come in. May I help you in any way?"

"I don't know." She smiled nervously. "I don't really know what brought me inside. Well... it's complicated."

He motioned towards a seat. "If you wish to explain I would be glad to listen. My name is Gaven. You are?"

"Eve." She didn't mind not telling the truth since her name did mean Eve. She took a seat. "I was drawn to your tent by the painting on your tent. It's a dragon."

"Yes, I study dragon lore. My father used to train dragons, but he disappeared when I was only nine. I believe he is still with the dragons, so I study them in hopes it will lead me to him. May I ask why the dragon interested you?"

"Oh, dragons are just such fascinating creatures. Do you think that dragons can fight for good? Or are they entirely evil without the help of man?"

"Ah, here we get into the mystery of the dragon. I believe that there are more good dragons than evil ones. My father was a dragon lord, he could speak to and understand dragons. Although I have tried to, I, alas, cannot. But, he told such stories of helpful dragons, and so few of evil ones, that I am sure that an evil dragon is rare. Does this ease your mind?"

"I had hoped it would, but I fear it does not. It is not your fault, though. I thank you for your time and teaching. How long will you be here? I may have other questions later."

"You have piqued my interest now. Why would a young lady of high standing -- for I can tell by the way you carry yourself that you are of high standing; it is no secret -- why would she be so curious of the ways of dragons? But, I shall not interrogate you. I myself despise one who whittles information out of me. I shall gain your confidence and let you tell me at your own timing. The caravan will be here for a week, I will have my tent out today and tomorrow and, depending on how much business I get during that time I may be out later as well. I'm staying at the Last Harting Inn; ask for me and I will be glad to serve you."

Ayva stood and pulled her purse, but Gaven protested. "On me, please. You have given me joy to know that someone is as interested in dragons as I."

She thanked him and left the tent. Half-conscious she made her way back to the castle. She was quiet the rest of the day, pondering what Gaven had told her. What should she be wary of? Dragons or Knights? If the majority of dragons were good, she should fear Knights, but what if the dragon in her dream was one of the minority?

Using a Writing Prompt

*First, sorry for not writing. I really am so bad at keeping a blog; I warned you... I decided to use a writing prompt because I couldn't think of a single thing to write, and honestly I felt guilty about not writing. I'm not using them as "I'm stuck what shall I do?" prompts, but more as "I need something to write so I'll write a random scene" prompts. I rarely write modern, so this could turn out very interesting. Here goes!*

courtesy of thewritingcafe.tumblr.com, via Pinterest.com

My head hurt terrificly and it hurt to move. Had I been drugged? The last thing I remembered was looking at a beautiful blue sky, pure white, puffy clouds, the bright warm sun. Then - suddenly - nothing. It was just a picture, but I could feel the sun. I wanted to smell the fresh air but I couldn't. I heard a rustle nearby, and I struggled to open my eyes.

"So, you're awake then?" A girl sat in a corner, looking much worse for wear. Her jet-black hair was stringy, knotted up, and hung loosely on her shoulders. She wore a short-sleeved blue T-shirt and a kaki knee-length skirt. She sat with her arms crossed and a sour face.

"Yes." I said quietly. "Who are you? How did we get here?"

"I'm --" She cut of shortly. Her face clouded over with worry and fear. "It doesn't matter who I am." Her harshness startled me.

"Sorry." I didn't mean it, but I said it anyway. "I'm, um...." The more I tried to think about it the harder it became. What was my name? What did I look like? How old was I? My heart began to race and my view began to fuzz with tears. "Do you know how we got here?"

"No idea, what-so-ever. Thought you might have a clue."

"Are you saying that it's all my fault?" I didn't bother to hide the fact that I was mad. I'd never met this girl in my life and now she's blaming me for getting us into this mess.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Well, it's not MY fault!"

"Look, I don't even know who I am! And judging by the look on your face when I asked you, you don't either. I'm not joking."

She looked suspiciously at me. "Why should I believe you? Of course I know who I am." There was a slight pause. "I'm Lora, from --" pause again "--South Dakota."

"Oh." I didn't believe her, but I didn't bother telling her so. I stood up to take in my surroundings. We were in a small room, not dark but not lit up. The floor and walls were cement, and a lightbulb hung from a string in the ceiling. Cardboard boxes were thrown about, a few crates were in a corner, dust and dirt was everywhere. A door was to my right. I walked over, knowing it would be locked, but when I jerked at it it flew open. I looked back at "Lara", who perked up. She scrambled to her feet and was with me in a second.

"Should we explore?" I asked. She nodded. The hall was pitch black. I swallowed loudly.

"Why don't we hold hands so we don't get lost on our own?" I know she hated the idea; I did too; but it was a good one. We both took a deep breath, clasped hands together, and took our first steps into the void.