Book of Random Things and Such

Please read and comment about ch. 3- the newest poem!

Chapter 1

Girl With the China Blue Eyes

by: Darsha
The girl runs. Fast as she possible can, not caring about her torn dress, or the dirt building up on her form and face. Down through the streets of the place she could once call home. But not anymore.

The sky, however, is cheerful, without clouds or rain. It is a pale blue. Not an ice bue, cold and hard, but a calming, tranquil blue. Only the opposite of everything that had just unfolded.

The girl kept running. Even when she heard the sound of a lark, a sound that had once caused her to pause and reflect upon the beauty of the word, she did not stop. The flowers were bright and colorful, blooming at her feet, yet she did not even falter. The air was graced by a soft wind, and the slight bustle of a cheerful town, or the cry of the \ helpless babe, cradled in it's mother's arms could not stop the girl.

No, not one beauty from the girl's childhood, that now seemed ever so far away, had any effect. She ran on so fast that she forgot to breathe; her footsteps heavy on the dirt road. Her dark locks of hair were streaming back from her face, all tangled and wind swept.

At one point she tripped, falling hard on the ground. Her panting cry, was filled with pure terror. Yet all around her was stillness. Quickly she rose to her feet, muffling the agony in her voice.

The girl ran until she could run no more, collapsing on the soft ground near a riverbank, squishy with mud. She could not hear the bubbling of the tricking brooke above the sound of her quick breathe. The willow tree nearby seemed to offer safe haven, but she did not go to it.

"Knock it all," said the voice of a young male. It came from the woods. The girl sat up immeaditately, as if she reckognized. Yes, emerging from the wooded area was a young boy, a hunter, with chestnut colored hair and dark brown eyes that looked like a layer of hazel had swepat over them. He was thin and lanky, at his waist was a dagger it's leather hilt. He couldn't be more than sixteen. He wore khaki shorts and had a dark leather shoulder bag slug across his rough yams colored shirt and ragged leather vest. He was running toward her, knife in hand.

The girl's china blue eyes went wild and she scooted fantically away. Her limbs tangled with the forrest under growth. Her movements were frantic and quick, her breath sped up even more. Yet she did not speak. Slowly the boy advanced toward her; his hands raised in surrender, the knife falling swiftly to the mossy ground, only to dive point first into the earth, and look even more menacing; hilt sticking out of the ground.

"Evelyn." the boy said quietly, "Evelyn, it's me."

He came a step closer, and for a moment, the girl paused. Maybe there was recognition in her china blue eyes. Maybe they softened and cleared for a moment when she heard the sound of the boy's voice. Who was he to her? A brother? A lover? A friend?

They looked near the same age. The girl began to back up, slowly this time, entangling her dark curly locks, all filled with dirt and grime, into a bramble bush. Still, no sound was uttered through her pale pink lips. Her pale skin went even whiter at the sound of the name.


It rang out in her mind like church bells in the morn'. She began to gasp and scramble away, backing herself into a willow tree. Trapping herself. The boy moved closer still.

As if time were frozen, the girl realized something in that moment. What it was, not a soul will ever know.

"Evelyn. Please." said the boy, his dark eyes pleading. He reached out to touch her cheek, a tender gesture, but she batted him violently away.

Then she went still. She could have fainted dead away. Cold and deaf to the world. The boy leaned his ear to her heart. Death had come upon the wild girl, and taken her spirit, leaving her just as beautiful in stillness as in life. And just as frantically wild- her fair features twisted in agony or pain. Terror maybe.

"Oh Evelyn, you never knew what was good for you," murmured the boy. Her china blue dress was billowed around her. The bodice fitting, and the skirt full, with a lace slip showing in places. It was covered in grime.

As silently as the girl disappeared from the world, another hunter entered upon the scene. He was older, with a short, clipped beard. His eyes were blue ice, and he was tall and stocky. He wore the same type of clothes as the darker boy, ut carried instead a bow and arrow. His hair was blonde- almost white, but not dull. It was a bright, plale, yellow, and was also clipped short. He couldn't have been more than twenty five years old.

"Dam," he said, "We lost another one."

"Yes," said the boy, "But I think this one knew more than the last. Alas, she wouldn't speak to me."

"Ahh" the man spat., "Next time."

"Yes," Whispered the boy, "Next time."

But what the boy did not mention was that the death of his sister on such glorious day would cause him to pray next time would never come. He stroked her dark hair away from her face, and vowed not to let her betrayl effect his emotions any more.

Then he walked away.

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