Monthly Archives: July 2011

What on Earth is Enkerlish?

Fans of Eddie, is there are any of you out there, bare with me. I will go back to his story soon. But first, in the post about Davey, and in any posts in which I would include Davey, you will probably find words like – Enkerlish.

Davey is a mute, which means he has no ability to speak. however, he doesn, as shown in Inside the Mind he does have two voices inside his head which he speaks to, and it’s not unusual for Davey’s words to be less than proper Enkerlish, English I mean, or French for that matter either.

Enkerlish means England, if you had not already guess, and to go to England was Davey’s childhood dream. I thought I should clean than up quickly, mainly due to crits from teachers about the naming of my english documents online.

Help! For you this time, not for me

OK, I don’t usually do this because I’m not an expert really and I don’t want to sound cocky but, if you’re looking for insperation this blog seems to do it for me:

http://wattsupwiththat.com/

Its about weird natural things that shouldn’t happen but have. It’s weird. Good for like sci-fi, I’d say.

Bethonie Waring

SMILES

A break from Eddie – Introducing Davey Hertz

Davey Hertz has been inside my brain as a writer for a very long time. He may have changed a little since I was small, changed his name, his age, nationality, almost everything about him. But Davey is a character that has grown up with me and, as my opinions change, my knowledge forms and the world around me grows, Davey has changed to suit these.

Davey’s featured in nearly every piece of writing I have written since I was little, almost definatly with a different name, always the main character. In the latest masterpiece to have formed from my brain, Davey Hertz has taken the form of a mute french man, caught up in the British Criminal Underground, on the run from the international police for a major terrorist attack nearly seven years prievious of the storyline. And Davey’s more of a co-star in this novel, I’ve found, which makes you wonder what on earth the other character is like, but I won’t go into that now.

I will admit I have a soft spot for Davey always. His constant torture to himself for what he’s done kind of sums that up in my mind. And to me, it would be stupid of me to create a blog to show of my amazing writing skills without including Davey Hertz as the Davey Hertz.

Now all I need to do is find something about Davey to show off.

(wait twenty minuets whilst I rush around trying to find writing)

OK, this is something from Davey when he was little. It’s called ‘Inside The Mind Of A Nine Year Old Mute French Kid’ . Fans – what fans? – should recognise this from my writers network site (http://www.writers-network.com/index.cgi?m=1&do=profile&who=15530 – all my older work) but I’m not usuing that now. So, Davey Hertz:

DAVEY – I’ve shut the door. I’ve locked the door. I’m alone with you now.

VOICE ONE – What if Mr George comes?

DAVEY – I can’t help it if Mr George comes, can I?

VOICE ONE – You can’t do anything, can you? You just a stupid little kid who can’t do anything.

DAVEY – Leave me alone.

VOICE TWO – We can’t leave you alone, can we, Davey?

VOICE ONE – Can we Davey?

DAVEY – But you do sometimes. You leave me sometimes. Why do you leave me sometimes?

VOICE TWO – Why would anyone leave you?

VOICE ONE – The same reason no one would stay.

VOICE TWO – Because you’re a worthless piece of sh*t that no one wants to be around.

DAVEY – Why do you say things like that?

VOICE ONE – Well it’s true, isn’t it?

VOICE TWO – Isn’t it?

DAVEY – No…yes

VOICE ONE – No one loves you

DAVEY – No one loves me

VOICE TWO – So why did you leave France, Davey?

DAVEY – Because no one loved me?

VOICE TWO – And where are you now, Davey?

DAVEY – Enkerland

VOICE ONE – And does anyone love you in Enkerland?

DAVEY – Yes

VOICE TWO – Mr George don’t love you

VOICE ONE – He don’t love you. He’s using you.

VOICE TWO – Mr George. Don’t. Love. You.

DAVEY – Mr George don’t love me. But…

VOICE ONE – But…

VOICE TWO – But what?

DAVEY – But Carlus.

VOICE ONE – What? What about Carlus?

VOICE TWO – He don’t love you.

VOICE ONE – What makes you think he loves you?

DAVEY – He said so.

VOICE TWO – Awww… He said so.

VOICE ONE – If I say I love you does that mean I love you

DAVEY – No

VOICE ONE – But I said so.

DAVEY – But you don’t mean it

VOICE TWO – And you think he means it!

DAVEY – Yes

VOICE ONE – No one loves you, Davey.

VOICE TWO – No one

DAVEY – You’re wrong.

Eddie awakes – Part 4

If you’re new to this blog, read from the beginning here.

Wake Up. Come on Eddie, wake up. It’ll be ok, just open you’re eyes. Theres nothing to worry about. You’re not tired any more, are you? You can’t still be tired. Wake up, Eddie. Wake up.

I dragged my eye lids up from over my eyes. A round, black face and huge, brown eyes stared down at me. I frowned, but did not move.

“Hello!” Mary cried “Hello mister. You can tell me your name now, mister.”

I lifted my hands up and rubbed my face, trying to brush the sleep from my face. I tryed to find my eyes with my hands, but the texture was unknown to my hands. Whatever Mary’s dad had done, I couldn’t look the same.

“Hello!” Mary called, boucing around the room “Mister, what’s your name?”

I pushed myself up on my elbows. I was in a bed room, I was sure. I was in a bed in the room, which figured  bed room to me, but the room was bare other than that. I looked down at myself. The covers were a groggy white and blood stained, but I couldn’t tell f it was from me or from someone – something – else. I was wearing fresh, thin cloth pyjamas that I had never seen before, which seemed to be the only thing that made sense, and were clean,

“Hello? Mister?” Mary called down my ear.

“Mary, leave the man alone. He’s had quite a shock.”

The woman from the sink was in the doorway, holding a pile of what I assumed were clean towles, although it looked as if someone had already used them to wash a pig with. I always knew from the news reports this was a dirtier side of town, but never like this…

“But mummy,” the girl hissed, glancing impaintently between her mother and me. I smiled weakly.

“My name’s Eddie,” I said, my voice scraping my throat as I spoke “Where’s you’re dad. I’d like to thank him. There’s not many people who would help…”

“Oh, he takes it on himself to help all the wonderers, dear,” the woman said “I’m Cathy, Mary’s mother. My husbands at work.”

“Are you coming to the party tonight, Eddie?” Mary asked.

“Party?” I asked, my voice still attacking my throat.

“I’ll bring you some water,” Cathy said, putting the towles down at my side “You sound like you need it. I don’t think you’ll be able to stomach any breakfast for the day though, not my after past experiences. Come on Mary, leave the man alone.”

Mary’s feet dragged as she reluctantly followed her mother out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I needed to go, preferably as soon as possible. I had a life to live, I couldn’t just waste the world away here.

Mary opened the door, a finger to her lips. She grinned, sliding into the room and shutting the door gently behind her. She skipped over, bouncing onto the bad and narrowly missing my legs. I winced.

“You’ve got to come to the party tonight, Eddie,” Mary whispered “It’s going to be fun. Even better than last night. My friend said that there was even going to be fireworks! Imagine that!”

“What’s the party for?” I asked.

“For fun!” Mary cried “We always have parties for fun! If you can’t have a party for fun then what’s the point in everything?”

“Mary!” Cathy called “If you’re in that room your going to be in huge trouble, missy!”

“But Mum!” Mary called as Cathy returned to the room with the water “Eddie wants to come to the party!”

“Actually, I think I’ll pass,” I said, taking the water from Cathy “Thank you, Mrs…”

“Just call me Cathy,” Cathy said “Now, Mary, I mean it, out of here.”

“How can you not want to come to the party, Eddie” Mary whined on her way out “There’s gonna be fireworks!”

A Small Note About Edward’s Story

This is an author’s note about Edward’s story.

Most of the time, you will most commenly find Edward’s story is writing in the first draft, which means that it can be very much improved, which means that comments of improvement ideas are very much appreciated. Also, as you may have just guessed, I can not spell and do not commenly use the spell checker, so that the stor’s are probably commenly not very readable due to the spelling. Sorry about that.

Thanks.

Bethonie Waring

To read Edward’s story click here

The third part of Edward’s story – to relieve boredom

This story from the begining. Start HERE

I admit now, amoungst the blacks, alone and unable to move, I was scared.

The man I could only assume was Mary’s father lifted my almost naked body onto a table in the house. I could not struggle, I tried, but if I had been able to I would have. The room was shabby and dirty, and my eyes spun in my head as I tried to get as good a look as possibe of the room, so that, in case anything happened … I’m not sure what I was thinking of doing.

A black woman in a dusty, thirty-year old dress, was stood over a sink in the corner, watching her husband as she absent mindedly washed whatever it was that was in the sink. Mary was bouncing at the side of the table, watching as her father and the other man looked down at me, their eyes seeming to analyse my body, and I could feel it.

“Had a good go at him, didn’t they?” the woman observed.

“Served him right, though,” the man who I assumed was not Mary’s dad said “He walked right past the bait, then went back to help him!”

“Should have just carried on walking, mate!” Mary’s dad laughed, pushing my hair out of my face with a gentle, walm hands. His hands slid down my wet face, to my sticky, red throat, finguring the insition before letting his eyes wonder further down my body. “They cut you up good.”

“He’s a white man, Daddy,” Mary whispered, watching me watching her.

“Yes, I know sweety,” Mary’s Dad said “Go get me a wet cloth, baby, ok? Alfie, can you pass me the instruments?”

I could not move, and I was trying, but if I could I would no longer have been there. I wasn’t a raceist. I didn’t believe in what they thought or did. But I was as scared of the black doctor using instruments on my body as I was any white doctor.

I could hear Mary clatter down stairs somewhere outside my vision and she appeared at my side with a dripping wet cloth, shoving it between my teeth. My eyes flicked over to the other man, carrying an out of place, silver tray to the table.

“Now, Mr White Man, don’t be afraid to bite,” Mary’s Dad warned with a grin. “Alfie! Are you finished messing around or are you going to wase all day over there? Calm down, it’s ok. You’re gonna be fine.”

Alfie hurried over, placeing the silver tray on the table beside me. Mary’s Dad took a short, thin knife from the tray and held up to the light. In the other hand held a wet wipe, and he gently dabbed my throat, cleaning my neak of blood that was probably becoming infected now. He replaced the knife with a pair of tweesers. With a surgens presition, he inserted the tweesers into the insition, as gently as possible, and pulled out a small green box. My teeth ripped through the cloth, denting each other, I was sure. Mary’s Dad held the green box infront of my eyes and grinned.

“Computer chip,” he said “Stops the vocal cords. Also stops a lot of movement. Can you feel your limbs coming back to you now?”

I nodded, suprising myself with the movement. Mary’s Dad laughed.

“Don’t try anything with too much effot just yet,” he said “You still have a lot of injuries. Now,  Mr White Man, we’re going to give you a nice drug ok, that will make you go to sleep. OK? Not a party one, not in here. We only needed you awake for that short, short procedure, ok? Now you can go to sleep and when you wake up you will be nice and better.”

“Nice and better.” Mary repeated, grinning.

I felt myself nodding but I didn’t actually do it. Again in the strange, dark world I had stumbled into and wished I hadn’t, I felt my head spinning and I again, allowed myself to slip into rest. Unable to stop myself.

Edward Leonardo Sam Smith continued (Part 2)

You may or may not have noticed this was part 2 and also continued. If you were directed her though a search bar using phrases such as ‘random’ or ‘bordom relief’ then you missed the welcoming from the first part the story, and it would be suggested that you go back to the first post. So, to continue the story:

I was left alone for a night.

Although alone might not be the right word.

Night fell onto the street and the street seemed to come alive. All afternoon I had seen absolutly nobody, not even walking across the top of the street. I couldn’t move. Whenever I tryed to heave my body from the floor, pain seemed to rise from some unearthly underground sludge to attack me. So all I could do was wait. And then, as always happens, night fell.

From the houses and side streets and shops that had only this afternoon hidden the White thieves and enemies, the darker skinned who lived and belonged here poured out onto the street, calling and singing and dancing across the stones and the cobbled road where I lay, playing and sliding across the street from door to door, letting the range of music they had to offer rip out onto the street. They danced alone or in twos or threes or in huge groups, and I could do nothing but watch and stair from the ground.

Not once did any of them offer to help, or even look down in my direction. My head, still bleeding slightly from the attack that afternoon, was spinning with the movement and with the noise that attacked one another above my head. I let my eyes recover for a moment, shutting my eyes against the loud, dark party. Something thicker than air seeped into my lungs from the air, chocking me and forcing me to open my eyes again, the black legs dancing across my vision not making any sense. I closed them again quickly, deciding that the street party was too much for my brain to handle, and I let my head rest against the cobbles.

When I opened them again, light had flooded the street again, no evidence of the black’s street-party the prievious night what so ever, and I was beginning to believe the entire thing had been a stress induced dream. It was unusually sunny, not a cloud in the sky, which I thought was unusual with the latest outburst in globabl warming, and with my mind still in hostile mode about the entire place. I began to heave myself against the floor again when a small girl skipped across my vision. I looked up at her, her skin as black as the night and her smile as genuine as anything I had seen in a long time. The last thing I expected from anything that came from here.

“Hello,” she giggled “How do you do?”

I looked up at her, confussed, then tryed quite desperatly to stand up, or even shift my body in the slightest, but it only caused the pain to shoot through my body again, and no limb of mine even moved an inch.

“Mary had a baby boy, it’s skin as white as snow,” the girl sang “And every time the boy came into the town, the blood would surly flow.” she laughed at her song, then held out her hand, as if I were to take it “My name’s Mary. What’s yours?”

I tried to croak a response. I was aiming at something similar to ‘help’, but no words came out, only a spluttered cough and a cup’s worth of blood. My blood sprayed over her bare feet, but she did not move away from the droplets. I stared at her feet, unable to believe what I had just achived.

“Are you very sick or just a little?” Mary asked “Should I go and find Daddy? Daddy’s a doctor. Should I find him?”

I tried to shake my head but that didn’t work either, and I was too scared to attempt to say another word. The girl seemed to understand, and she scuttered off back inside a shop front. I attempted to look around again, lifting my head a miller meter off of the floor. The street just looked like a normal, every day street. It did even look like a dark street. It could hav been anywhere it city. It was just a coincidence this was the black part of town.

Women brush the pavements outside their shop fronts. Children play on the streets, laughing and singing. Men stood at shop fronts, calling news to one another. Again, not one acknoledged me.

I was trying to pick myself up again when the girl, Mary, returned, two black man followed her, grabbed me with soft, gentle hands, and carried me inside.

I admit now, amoungst the blacks, alone and unable to move, I was scared.