rachael1918

Okay, I lied.



Toby had found a few of his favorite figures and was playing with them on the floor, and after returning Lancelot to the bed I joined him. He was delighted to have someone to play with, and told me in a remarkably solemn voice that he was He-Man and I was his archenemy, Skeletor. I moved my action figure around mechanically while Toby enthusiastically simulated battle cries and repeatedly tried to knock my figure over, winning every time because I held it loosely.
 

 I have a confession; there are three illustrators in my life. Their names are Kay Nielsen, Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac. Today, the latter wins.

Drink Wine: for 'neath the clay in silent gloom
Long shalt thou sleep, with none to share thy tomb;
Reveal this hidden secret unto none -
The wither'd tulip ne'er again will bloom

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...

I was too tired and excited to locate my nightclothes, so I simply stripped down to my T-shirt and went to bed in that. Before drawing the curtains to, I stared out onto the city. I got a good view of the car packed streets, and made out hundreds of tiny, scurrying figures in the light radiated by the huge, high wattage advertisements that were stuck to every significant building for miles. I was glad my window was closed, if it hadn’t been the city would have produced a roar. I had a ridiculous impulse to cite Mister Baum as I looked out, but a yawn warped my face before I had the chance and I went to bed instead.

Aloha, reader. The photo dump for chapter seven follows.

Mr. Lawrence got his revenge a few months later when he cast me as Hero in the school’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. God, I hated that character. She was wetter than the Pacific Ocean, and showed a talent for only one thing: fainting. By the end of rehearsals I would have willingly put my hands around my own neck and squeezed to spare myself having to say another one of her lines.

I could visualize Ophelia effortlessly: she was being borne to her grave by the gentle flow of a sun-flecked river.  Brightly colored blossoms were clutched loosely in one of her beautifully formed hands, and the fingers of the other broke through the water’s surface, feebly trying to stop themselves being submerged. Her lovely ashen face was surrounded by a halo of wispy chestnut curls which bounced delicately on the surface of the water. Her face was frozen in an expression of absolute despair.  Her pale, blue lips were parted slightly but I could tell her mouth had produced a gasp, not a word. Cold, bitter grief had smothered her voice. The scene was astonishingly vivid, as if I had recently witnessed Ophelia’s lonely, quiet death from the bank of the river and passed an account of it onto Shakespeare.   

I have recently become extremely obsessed with an anime called Blood+, which is bad because I need to be working and should not be humouring my obsession by watching a 50 episode long anime...

Anyway, chapter five. Lots of photos this time. I will warn in advance that there won't be any more pictures posts for the stage of the story where Sarah enters fantasy land...

So, chapter five. The first picture is dedicatded to misofuhni, for painstakingly talking me through the popular culture of the eighties.

Once every mark of the old, immature Sarah had been banished to the attic, I reformed myself, becoming a normal, inoffensively-rebellious girl. I brought posters of rock stars and teen idols to stick to my wall, listening to their music on the radio and renting their films. I soon knew all about Bon Jovi and dutifully purchased their singles, playing them at full volume in my room. Tom Cruise’s dully handsome face swiftly became familiar, and I had soon seen all of the films of his they had at the rental store in town. Irene poked her head through the doorway when I was watching one of them, sweetly asking if I would like a snack. She was thrilled by my efforts; her step-daughter was finally displaying telltale signs of normality.