30 Day Writing Challenge Take Two - Day #1

Time to write!

Once I started a 30 day writing challenge and it failed horribly. Horribly. I believe I made it to day 8. Ouch. Ouch is what that is. However, I will not be deterred. I have 36 days until my wedding. I'm going to take my honeymoon off. Sorry, that's just as far as my dedication goes. However, I really want to do this challenge beforehand because once I'm back I want to make serious progress on my novel. To keep my mind fresh though, and as a writing warm-up I intend to write here in the mornings. And such is the plan! Let's see what happens.

Day 1: Select a book at random in the room. Copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story. 

In a garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you'd rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.

And that was the trouble with ruling a kingdom. There was no job security.

Calren rubbed his eyes and tried not to heave an unkingly sigh as he tried to process the letter before him. The courier waited impatiently in the doorway, hands twitching for a coin as a tip or a return letter.

"Thank you," Calren said finally, not bothering to glace up at the courier. "You may go."

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from muttering as she walked away. He could've decided no reply was needed fifteen minutes ago when she'd first delivered the letter. But he was king now, and her sass did not belong in the royal court. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had reminded her of that when she'd left to serve in the capitol city.

It wasn't until after the courier's footsteps had faded completely that Calren took off the crown - no gaudy thing with fur or embellishments, but a simple gold circlet - and laid it on the table in front of him. In the six months since his coronation he still had not gotten used to it, and even the informal circlet persisted in giving him headaches.

Royal Liege,

It was with a dire sense of duty that I write to inform you there is mutiny among your ranks.

Not a promising thought, especially when the peasant uprising led by the Marquis of Refflin had only put down what they had assumed was "for good" a week before the coronation had taken place.

Don't Stop Writing

Time to write!
Sunday means another "authentic" day, and I don't know what to write so I'm challenging myself to just do it and just write with no previous sense of direction! Ready! Go!

I knew I didn't have much time. I couldn't stop writing. There was no time to reread what I'd already put down on paper to ascertain that it made sense. All I could do was write and pray that my instructions would make sense, because soon my time would be up.

I could hear footsteps coming down the hall. I heard the jingling of keys, and the guard's gruff voice.
"On your feet!" he barked.
I recognized the voice. It was Stenson, one of the cruelest of our jailers. He tormented the prisoners for the fun of it, he must have liked the feeling of power it gave him, watching men, women, and children squirm and cry under his influence. I hated the man, but his propensity for vicious behavior meant I'd probably have a few more minutes than I'd anticipated.

I kept on writing. I couldn't stop now, each moment was precious. I could hear Crimmel moaning and Stenson laughing. I pushed down the anger I felt at Stenson's exploitation of Crimmel who was upwards of eighty years old and had only one leg and kept writing, ignoring my cramping hand, reminding myself that only through finishing this could I ever hope to help Crimmel, or any of the others.

I was almost done. Crimmel's door was slammed shut and I could hear the footsteps again and the sound of keys in a lock. Stenson had reached the cell next to mine. That's where Grea lived. Normally when the guards reached Grea I had to curl up in a ball with my hands over my ears because the thought of them hurting my Grea hurt me more than anything they did to me ever could, but today I knew I was going to need to hear every sound. I couldn't stop writing. I needed to finish, and I didn't have much time.

"You're looking smug, rebel trash," I heard Stenson drawl.
Grea didn't answer and Stenson continued speaking. "You smug because you got a plan? You feeling any hope today, pale boy?"
Grea didn't come from Lurea, but to a land far to the north, and his skin was much whiter than ours. His being a foreigner was something that even the "kindest" of the guards couldn't help but mock. I wished they'd just leave him alone.
"I have no plan," Grea answered quietly.
"Oh? So you're stupid? You gonna count on your other white friends to come and save you? You gonna wait for your white mama to come bring her baby home?"

I was so close to being finished. I knew Stenson was waiting for Grea to give him a reaction, so he'd have an excuse to hit him. I prayed that Grea wouldn't answer, wouldn't give in.

"Is that it, pale boy? You waiting for your snow people to get you out of this jail? Not very inspiring for the leader of a rebellion."

It was done. Now I just needed to seal it with something. I grabbed the sealant wax I'd found, my only chance at saving us all, and held it up close to the candle which was ensconced in a bunch of crossing bars. This way we prisoners could have some light and extremely limited warmth, but couldn't get the candles out or move them. This was a fairly new installation, since Troi had tried attacking a guard with a burning candle. Slowly the sealant began to soften. I was running out of time.

"You just gonna sit there quietly like a coward?" Stenson drawled. "Would you keep sitting there quietly if I pay a special visit to your little girlfriend?"

My heart began to pound, and I felt bile rise in my throat. The sealant was almost soft enough to spread over the parchment, which would it protect it from the water.

"Don't touch her," Grea said, his voice quiet but almost a growl.
"Don't? I touch her all the time." Stenson answered. "That girl's bruised and black and blue and there isn't a thing you can do about it." He laughed, a scratchy, grating sound.
Chains rattled, and I knew that Grea was getting angry.
"You gonna attack me?" Stenson asked, clearly enjoying the moment. "That's what your mama tried to do. Your little white mama, just before we killed her."
Grea strained against his chains again.
"You wanna fight, pale boy?"
The sickening sound of fist meeting jaw came, and Grea's chains chinked again. I knew he was trying to defend himself, but his arms were chained to the wall at the wrists, the only one of us who was chained that way.

I couldn't let what was happening right next to me affect me. The wax was malleable, but not runny. I used my hands to crust it over the entire piece of parchment, then folded it while the sealant was still soft so it wouldn't crack. I spread another layer over the folded document, sealing it tightly, doing my best to ignore Grea's grunts and the sound of his chains as he tried to pull his limbs from the wall.

I stood on tiptoe and pushed the parchment through the window where it fell to the waves below me. Now it was done, and all I could do was hope that it would work.