Skip to main content

The Old Man from Dungeon

The old man from Dungeon might look a little bit like the old man in this picture:

Picture from the movie "The Count of Monte Cristo"
via Pinterest

Quotes from the old man:

     “What for?” came an old man’s voice out of the dimness. 
      The princess spun to look for this new voice.  Her eyes could barely distinguish more cells across the hall.  One of them held an old man with long, white hair.
     The old man shrugged under her stare.  “What else can you do to him?” he asked pointedly, waving his hand at the despair around him.
***
 
     “Using bribery now, are we?” the old man lilted.
***
 
     The old man picked the dropped pear.  He took a bite, slurping up the juice as he went.  The princess raised an eyebrow, thinking how horrified her mother would have been at the old man’s manners.
     “Don’t want to waste a drop,” the old man explained, catching her expression.
***
     The old man coughed and dragged a small sharp stone against his stone wall.  “By my calculations, I should make it out in another 20 to 30 years,” he said with a sigh.
***

The old man is an interesting character.  In his younger days, he was more of a hothead, too outspoken for his own good, landing himself in a dungeon to be forgotten for eternity.  By the time of my story, he still has a quick tongue but it has been tempered with maturity and wisdom.  He has been through all the phases of fighting against the bars that hold him in and hating those that put him there, but those who meet him now find a wise old man who is past all of that...mostly.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Hard Goodbye

     "You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian.  He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer.  I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip.  Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything.  But did he appreciate his opportunities?  No. And I hated him for it.      "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?"  His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question.  Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash.       "They don't DO anything."  My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly.  Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed.     ...

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days.  Do you know what that means?  Barely over a week.  Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story?  What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain?  What was it that you liked about your premise?  As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene?  And are you glad you wrote it down?  Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it?  Will you market it elsewhere?  Or will you lock it away in a drawer?

Goodbye and God Be With You

It's rather fitting that some things come to a close on this day -- the last day of the year. I submitted my last entry into the Rooglewood contest this morning.  I can hardly believe it took me until the day of the deadline to send it in because I'm usually earlier than that.  And, even with the extra time I took, I still felt a little bit like maybe I could have done better if I had more time. But there was no feeling of regret when I hit "send."  Mostly it was just a prayer that Rooglewood would hear the heart of the message when they read it and that maybe, if I win, they could help me bring the full potential out of my little story.  And there was also a feeling, after working on these stories for more than six months, that it felt good to close that chapter and move on to the next one. I did it.  I wrote them.  And I'm really proud of them. Last year, the act of hitting "send" on my contest entry catapulted me into an anticipatory state....