Electra Heart
February 24th, 2012, 10:55 PM
So, basically, this short story is due in English next week. I'm gonna post the prologue and part 1 on here and tell me what you think, also, this is set in Norway so there are some weird words in there, I'll just leave footnotes.
Prologue: March 27, 1992
The clouds outside had parted to let a bright beam of sun illuminate the interior of the large courthouse. Walls made of shining wood and floors of marble sparkled in the light. The jury was in stunned silence now; a 10-year-old girl on trial for 1st degree murder. The local newspaper stands had sold out in a matter of hours, and pictured on them was a young, thin girl. Her expression towards the camera suggested that she would never hurt a fly. But now, sitting, arms folded next to her lawyer, a tall balding man named Lars Vromheïn*, her eyes told a dark twisted tale of smoke and blood.
*Pronounced-"vrom-hine"
“Ledsona Valdis* Valhalla,” the round, thunderous judge bellowed at the small girl, “you are here under the suspicion that you have killed your own father, Érik Valhalla.” She continued to stare at her; her eyes seemed to glow with iridescent rage.
*Pronounced-"Lead-sonna" & "Val-deez"
“Do you deny this claim?” The judge rolled her eyes at the girl’s silence. Look at this pre-pubescent nymph trying to unnerve me, she thought to herself. Suddenly, the girl opened her mouth, only to let out a shocking string of profanity towards the judge. The jury in turn stared at the young girl, gawking at her disgustingly inappropriate response.
“Silence Frøken* Valhalla!” Vromheïn scolded her, gripping her arm tightly. She turned towards him, hate radiating from her eyes. She grabbed his head, and slammed hers forward, colliding with his. 2 officers pounced on her, she screamed as they managed to restrain the struggling young girl. She broke free, sprinted through the throng of panicking people, flooding the aisles out of the courthouse. She kicked in the main door with incredible strength that she couldn't possibly posses. She smelt the fresh spring air of the beautiful Friday morning, taking as much in as she could until she felt a deep, electrical charge running through her body, and her skull cracking like an egg as her head hit the cold, marble floor.
*Frøken=Miss-Pronounced; "Froke-in"
Part I: Awakening
Ledsona awoke with a start, her piercing cries echoed through the walls of her dismal apartment until they subsided into the dark, damp, dreary floorboards. She uncomfortably shifted to her side, skin sticking to the sweat-soaked sheets like adhesive. “Happy birthday to me...” She thought, wiping a tear from her cheek, “happy 17th birthday...” She pulled herself upward, and stared, absent-minded at the tiny specks of light peaking in between the folds of a large blanket carelessly tossed over the window. It was raining again. She could faintly hear the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the other side of the window. She placed her feet down on the cold, creaking floor, and stood up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stumbled into the kitchen. Eyes still half closed, her hands slid across the counter blindly until she hit the switch on her new, Frisk-Brygge* Coffee Maker. The soft trickle of coffee into the large pot below grew to a steady stream as she reached across the counter, and grabbed a cigarette. She felt the soft, papery material smooth against her hands as she lit a match to it. She took one long drag, and puffed a great cloud of smoke that swirled like a dragon above her head. She put it out next to the coffee maker, and poured a cup of the bitter, brown liquid.
*Frisk-Brygge=Fresh Brew :P Pronounced; "Freesk-Breeg" G sounds like Beige
Grabbing the mug, she meandered back into her bedroom and plopped herself onto a revolving chair. She grabbed the metal edge of the computer desk and pulled herself forward. She set her coffee down and opened her laptop. Quickly, she pulled up the directions to 367 Jeger Street and studied them closely. Positioning each letter and word into her mind. When it was memorized, she took a long swig of coffee then stood up and motioned towards her closet. She opened it and cursed loudly as a clutter of random memorabilia poured out of the shelves to her feet. Kicking them aside angrily, she grabbed her jacket, neatly folded on the second shelf, and slammed the door shut. She tossed it onto the bed, and walked over to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. She made a mental checklist, black hair, strong jaw, sunken cheeks, and a few piercings. “I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Her mother’s words rang in her mind a million times with the image of her 1987 Honda mid size being pulled out of the North Sea, her mangled body smashed against the windshield. She flushed them out of her mind and grabbed her toothbrush, gripping it tightly until her knuckles turned white with a pained expression on her face.
Hastily, she brushed, flossed, and gargled until she thought she looked somewhat better. She walked out, turned off the light, and threw open her dresser drawer to begin the hunt for “appropriate” clothing. She decided on black boots, mud colored cargo pants, a tank top. When she was dressed with her jacket on, and laptop packed, she walked throughout the apartment, and turned off all the lights. She left many things behind, making sure to wipe off any fingerprints as she went. A sudden sadness entered her with the action, paired with the realization that she will never be able to come back again. Staring blankly at the floor, she snapped back into reality. She wiped a silent tear from her face as she pulled the door closed, locked it, and began to walk towards the long spiral staircase that would lead to her destiny.
Prologue: March 27, 1992
The clouds outside had parted to let a bright beam of sun illuminate the interior of the large courthouse. Walls made of shining wood and floors of marble sparkled in the light. The jury was in stunned silence now; a 10-year-old girl on trial for 1st degree murder. The local newspaper stands had sold out in a matter of hours, and pictured on them was a young, thin girl. Her expression towards the camera suggested that she would never hurt a fly. But now, sitting, arms folded next to her lawyer, a tall balding man named Lars Vromheïn*, her eyes told a dark twisted tale of smoke and blood.
*Pronounced-"vrom-hine"
“Ledsona Valdis* Valhalla,” the round, thunderous judge bellowed at the small girl, “you are here under the suspicion that you have killed your own father, Érik Valhalla.” She continued to stare at her; her eyes seemed to glow with iridescent rage.
*Pronounced-"Lead-sonna" & "Val-deez"
“Do you deny this claim?” The judge rolled her eyes at the girl’s silence. Look at this pre-pubescent nymph trying to unnerve me, she thought to herself. Suddenly, the girl opened her mouth, only to let out a shocking string of profanity towards the judge. The jury in turn stared at the young girl, gawking at her disgustingly inappropriate response.
“Silence Frøken* Valhalla!” Vromheïn scolded her, gripping her arm tightly. She turned towards him, hate radiating from her eyes. She grabbed his head, and slammed hers forward, colliding with his. 2 officers pounced on her, she screamed as they managed to restrain the struggling young girl. She broke free, sprinted through the throng of panicking people, flooding the aisles out of the courthouse. She kicked in the main door with incredible strength that she couldn't possibly posses. She smelt the fresh spring air of the beautiful Friday morning, taking as much in as she could until she felt a deep, electrical charge running through her body, and her skull cracking like an egg as her head hit the cold, marble floor.
*Frøken=Miss-Pronounced; "Froke-in"
Part I: Awakening
Ledsona awoke with a start, her piercing cries echoed through the walls of her dismal apartment until they subsided into the dark, damp, dreary floorboards. She uncomfortably shifted to her side, skin sticking to the sweat-soaked sheets like adhesive. “Happy birthday to me...” She thought, wiping a tear from her cheek, “happy 17th birthday...” She pulled herself upward, and stared, absent-minded at the tiny specks of light peaking in between the folds of a large blanket carelessly tossed over the window. It was raining again. She could faintly hear the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the other side of the window. She placed her feet down on the cold, creaking floor, and stood up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stumbled into the kitchen. Eyes still half closed, her hands slid across the counter blindly until she hit the switch on her new, Frisk-Brygge* Coffee Maker. The soft trickle of coffee into the large pot below grew to a steady stream as she reached across the counter, and grabbed a cigarette. She felt the soft, papery material smooth against her hands as she lit a match to it. She took one long drag, and puffed a great cloud of smoke that swirled like a dragon above her head. She put it out next to the coffee maker, and poured a cup of the bitter, brown liquid.
*Frisk-Brygge=Fresh Brew :P Pronounced; "Freesk-Breeg" G sounds like Beige
Grabbing the mug, she meandered back into her bedroom and plopped herself onto a revolving chair. She grabbed the metal edge of the computer desk and pulled herself forward. She set her coffee down and opened her laptop. Quickly, she pulled up the directions to 367 Jeger Street and studied them closely. Positioning each letter and word into her mind. When it was memorized, she took a long swig of coffee then stood up and motioned towards her closet. She opened it and cursed loudly as a clutter of random memorabilia poured out of the shelves to her feet. Kicking them aside angrily, she grabbed her jacket, neatly folded on the second shelf, and slammed the door shut. She tossed it onto the bed, and walked over to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. She made a mental checklist, black hair, strong jaw, sunken cheeks, and a few piercings. “I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Her mother’s words rang in her mind a million times with the image of her 1987 Honda mid size being pulled out of the North Sea, her mangled body smashed against the windshield. She flushed them out of her mind and grabbed her toothbrush, gripping it tightly until her knuckles turned white with a pained expression on her face.
Hastily, she brushed, flossed, and gargled until she thought she looked somewhat better. She walked out, turned off the light, and threw open her dresser drawer to begin the hunt for “appropriate” clothing. She decided on black boots, mud colored cargo pants, a tank top. When she was dressed with her jacket on, and laptop packed, she walked throughout the apartment, and turned off all the lights. She left many things behind, making sure to wipe off any fingerprints as she went. A sudden sadness entered her with the action, paired with the realization that she will never be able to come back again. Staring blankly at the floor, she snapped back into reality. She wiped a silent tear from her face as she pulled the door closed, locked it, and began to walk towards the long spiral staircase that would lead to her destiny.