Elsbeth

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2009-03-18 20:30:39

Last author: Barock
Owner: Barock

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Elsbeth - A Prose adaptation of the Poem of the same name written by Paula Becker

I submit this because it's unusual I write ficiton and not fantasy. I thought it came out pretty well, I can type up the poem if you want me to prove they're different :-)

Elsbeth rocked gently on her heels as the yellow sun set, humming her soft, soft song. Alone by foxgloves and dandelion stalks naked from the days wind. She crouches and hums her sweet melodies of future but never her past.

Her eyes are distant, focused on a spot she hasn’t reached yet. She’s never seen her foxgloves, never smelt their seductive tang, no. The Foxgloves in their own obscure way have never seen their broken girl-child, who so often cools herself in their purple shade.

Across the fields of golden, fat corn lies the house of a farmer and his daughter, rosy in the light of the setting sun. There inside the four ruddy walls, beneath the grey mottled lace curtains lies pain.

Elsbeth remembers pain, but the cause of such agony she doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Her mothers memory is rotten with anguish, her face crusted with remorse, lost to time and tears. Her father remembers, it’s written in his eyes. He wishes he didn’t, hates Elsbeth because she can forget, she has to forget.

Elsbeth can only think of future now, never her past. She has it all in her eye, she knows what and who she must become, where she must go. Her future is a sunrise which never sets; it is the light which sustains her as the sun does her Foxgloves.

Above, the suns last light spills orange across the dark sky broken in places by soft white cloud. The corn whispers quietly to Elsbeth, adding depth to her secret song, adding a sadness and a joy. The moons cool light cuts spaces between the tree’s boughs, scattering crystaline across the foxgloves and their broken girl-child.

Elsbeth hums her future far from here, across the fat golden corn and over the ruddy house. Where greedy hens peck at seed and stone, bobbing their heads in time to her wishful serenade and leaving her gifts of plump brown eggs. Where, of a morning, she will be greeted by tides of deep blue mist, which will rush across the emerald grass to greet her.

Elsbeth is a child lost in her song, buried in her melodies, her hummed verse and whispered rhyme. She is gone, far away to the fat hens and the blue mist, to a place where her stained dress will never be too white and the blue spots do not fade. She beckons me and I must follow. Elsbeth draws all to her sad song, calmly, with her eyes on a spot she is yet to reach, future but never past.

By Matt Dearden or [Barock]

2009-03-18 [Chimes]: I like it. :D You needs to fix the 'Above' The A is on a separate line O.o

2009-03-18 [Barock]: :P

2010-04-30 [Linderel]: Oooh. I quite like this. You change tense after the first sentence, though - you might want to fix that. There are also some apostrophes missing.

2011-08-01 [Priscilla Primkin]: Very pretty. Your English needs work, though, as the syntactical errors detract from the overall effect.

2011-08-02 [Barock]: I wrote this in my first year of my Creative Writing degree =]
So, apologies for errors in syntax and general grammar I swear it's of a higher quality now =P
Glad you all liked it though!
I should put up some of my newer stuff! x

2011-10-24 [Infested_Zling]: love it! its beautiful!

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