I write less than Stephen King says writers should, but I do write a lot
I did this one in kind of a fever today and I'm pretty proud of it, I wouldn't say it stands for most of my work though because this isn't my style and it plays with themes I've hardly ever touched
Hence the quotation marks
Enjoy?
One day, Little Miss Priscilla heard from her mom and dad that she was very, very sick. She wasn’t coughing and she wasn’t throwing up, but there were other ways to be sick. They said it was in her heart. Mom cried a lot.
They said they would try everything, and they took her everywhere. Everywhere except the village doctor. “Hello! My heart isn’t okay. Can you help me? Do you know anyone who can?”
One day, on her way to see a new doctor with mom, Little Miss Priscilla couldn’t walk anymore. She fell down and couldn’t catch herself, and couldn’t get up again. She felt tired. She didn’t know what happened for a while after that.
But she woke up, and she saw the village doctor’s wife. She was in bed, and the doctor’s wife was smiling at her. The priests all said she was a witch, but she looked okay. Little Miss Priscilla felt okay. She realized that she’d felt bad before, but she didn’t now.
The doctor’s wife said the doctor wasn’t here, but she had lots of the medicine that made Little Miss Priscilla feel okay again. It was red and thick and tasted like warm. She liked the medicine a lot. She got a little more, and then the doctor’s wife asked her mom and dad for a lot of money and let her go.
Little Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way home.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t tired. Mom couldn’t sleep either, because she was still worried. They talked a long time, and mom said her voice was strong again and cried a little more.
Mom went to sleep. Little Miss Priscilla tried hard, and then she did too. She dreamed of…
red.
Every night she stayed awake too late and dreamed of red.
Little Miss Priscilla wasn’t sick anymore, but now her favorite color was red.
*
One night, Little Miss Priscilla remembered the medicine. It had been red and thick and it tasted like warm.
Red,
And thick,
And tasted like warm.
She wanted…
Little Miss Priscilla wanted the medicine again. So she snuck out of bed and left her home and found the village doctor’s house. The moon was bright and white. She knocked on the door. Her mouth was watering and she felt kind of dizzy.
The doctor’s wife said the doctor wasn’t here, but she smiled and said of course she could give Little Miss Priscilla more medicine. She poured a cupful, and Little Miss Priscilla watched closely, and her heart felt strong just watching. Her mouth was watering so much.
“Do you know where we get this medicine from?” the doctor’s wife asked.
“No. Where do you get it?” Little Miss Priscilla wanted to know.
“There’s a lady in the castle who makes it. Take your medicine. I’ll tell you her name.”
She took the cup, and her hands were shaking a little, and she drank it really fast. The doctor’s wife walked past her and whispered a name that sounded like roses. She couldn’t hear it. Everything felt like red and she wasn’t thinking.
Little Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way home.
She couldn’t sleep. Her heart felt so strong. So red. She got up again and walked all around the house. Everything felt so together, but… still… she wanted…
Little Miss Priscilla never slept that night. But the next, she dreamed of…
roses.
Little Miss Priscilla had had her medicine again, and now her favorite flower was roses.
*
One night, Little Miss Priscilla remembered the name. It had been soft and wonderful and it sounded like roses. She wished she had heard it clearly. She wanted to say it. She wanted to know who it was that made her red.
Her medicine. Made her medicine. Little Miss Priscilla wasn’t red.
She wanted to paint. She wanted to paint with red paint. She wanted to make something red so she could see it.
So Little Miss Priscilla went to her mom and dad and said she wanted to paint. They said, okay. They said, anything for their lovely growing daughter. She just wanted the paint.
The next day, she took the canvas, and she took the paints. She put away all the ones that weren’t red. She painted a red rose, and then another one. She painted in red and her heart started feeling strong again. Her hands wanted to shake, but they couldn’t. They had to paint. She could barely tell what she was making until it was done.
A lady, outlined in red, dressed in a dress made of red roses. Her skin was the white of the canvas, her hair was the darkest red. Her eyes and her lips were the strongest red she’d ever seen, and she watched Little Miss Priscilla.
Her fingernails hurt a little. So did her wrist. She looked. She thought, “that must be the paint I used for the eyes and the lips.”
She looked at the painting.
She looked at the painting.
She looked at the painting.
The sun rose outside and she looked at the painting.
Her mom asked what she was doing. She asked what she’d made.
“The Lady in Roses,” said Little Miss Priscilla.
Her mom said it was pretty. Beautiful. She asked if Little Miss Priscilla had slept.
“She is beautiful,” said Little Miss Priscilla.
She kept the painting. She looked at the painting every night. Her heart felt strong every time she looked. The Lady in Roses was the one who made her red.
The next time she slept, she dreamed of…
the Lady.
Little Miss Priscilla knew what the Lady looked like now, and she was her favorite person.
*
One night, Miss Priscilla couldn’t stop looking at the Lady. The paints were all dry. Her face never moved. Her eyes were so intense, but they weren’t real.
The painting was so perfect that it made her heart writhe. But it was just a painting of the real Lady in Roses. She rose from her bed and her heart was still squirming. The image of the Lady was branded in her eyes and her head. She wanted…
She wanted to see the Lady. To touch her roses. To taste her red from the source. The want was physical. It made her dizzy like she hadn’t been since her heart was sick. The Lady in Roses was in the castle: that’s what the doctor’s wife had said. People went to the castle sometimes. Sometimes they came back. No one who lived there ever came out.
But Miss Priscilla wanted to meet the Lady. She wanted to hear the Lady’s voice and her real name. She wanted to know the Lady’s scent.
She could barely breathe. She felt weak like she hadn’t been since her heart was sick. But her heart was strong. She had to go now.
Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way to the castle.
I did this one in kind of a fever today and I'm pretty proud of it, I wouldn't say it stands for most of my work though because this isn't my style and it plays with themes I've hardly ever touched
Hence the quotation marks
Enjoy?
One day, Little Miss Priscilla heard from her mom and dad that she was very, very sick. She wasn’t coughing and she wasn’t throwing up, but there were other ways to be sick. They said it was in her heart. Mom cried a lot.
They said they would try everything, and they took her everywhere. Everywhere except the village doctor. “Hello! My heart isn’t okay. Can you help me? Do you know anyone who can?”
One day, on her way to see a new doctor with mom, Little Miss Priscilla couldn’t walk anymore. She fell down and couldn’t catch herself, and couldn’t get up again. She felt tired. She didn’t know what happened for a while after that.
But she woke up, and she saw the village doctor’s wife. She was in bed, and the doctor’s wife was smiling at her. The priests all said she was a witch, but she looked okay. Little Miss Priscilla felt okay. She realized that she’d felt bad before, but she didn’t now.
The doctor’s wife said the doctor wasn’t here, but she had lots of the medicine that made Little Miss Priscilla feel okay again. It was red and thick and tasted like warm. She liked the medicine a lot. She got a little more, and then the doctor’s wife asked her mom and dad for a lot of money and let her go.
Little Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way home.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t tired. Mom couldn’t sleep either, because she was still worried. They talked a long time, and mom said her voice was strong again and cried a little more.
Mom went to sleep. Little Miss Priscilla tried hard, and then she did too. She dreamed of…
red.
Every night she stayed awake too late and dreamed of red.
Little Miss Priscilla wasn’t sick anymore, but now her favorite color was red.
*
One night, Little Miss Priscilla remembered the medicine. It had been red and thick and it tasted like warm.
Red,
And thick,
And tasted like warm.
She wanted…
Little Miss Priscilla wanted the medicine again. So she snuck out of bed and left her home and found the village doctor’s house. The moon was bright and white. She knocked on the door. Her mouth was watering and she felt kind of dizzy.
The doctor’s wife said the doctor wasn’t here, but she smiled and said of course she could give Little Miss Priscilla more medicine. She poured a cupful, and Little Miss Priscilla watched closely, and her heart felt strong just watching. Her mouth was watering so much.
“Do you know where we get this medicine from?” the doctor’s wife asked.
“No. Where do you get it?” Little Miss Priscilla wanted to know.
“There’s a lady in the castle who makes it. Take your medicine. I’ll tell you her name.”
She took the cup, and her hands were shaking a little, and she drank it really fast. The doctor’s wife walked past her and whispered a name that sounded like roses. She couldn’t hear it. Everything felt like red and she wasn’t thinking.
Little Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way home.
She couldn’t sleep. Her heart felt so strong. So red. She got up again and walked all around the house. Everything felt so together, but… still… she wanted…
Little Miss Priscilla never slept that night. But the next, she dreamed of…
roses.
Little Miss Priscilla had had her medicine again, and now her favorite flower was roses.
*
One night, Little Miss Priscilla remembered the name. It had been soft and wonderful and it sounded like roses. She wished she had heard it clearly. She wanted to say it. She wanted to know who it was that made her red.
Her medicine. Made her medicine. Little Miss Priscilla wasn’t red.
She wanted to paint. She wanted to paint with red paint. She wanted to make something red so she could see it.
So Little Miss Priscilla went to her mom and dad and said she wanted to paint. They said, okay. They said, anything for their lovely growing daughter. She just wanted the paint.
The next day, she took the canvas, and she took the paints. She put away all the ones that weren’t red. She painted a red rose, and then another one. She painted in red and her heart started feeling strong again. Her hands wanted to shake, but they couldn’t. They had to paint. She could barely tell what she was making until it was done.
A lady, outlined in red, dressed in a dress made of red roses. Her skin was the white of the canvas, her hair was the darkest red. Her eyes and her lips were the strongest red she’d ever seen, and she watched Little Miss Priscilla.
Her fingernails hurt a little. So did her wrist. She looked. She thought, “that must be the paint I used for the eyes and the lips.”
She looked at the painting.
She looked at the painting.
She looked at the painting.
The sun rose outside and she looked at the painting.
Her mom asked what she was doing. She asked what she’d made.
“The Lady in Roses,” said Little Miss Priscilla.
Her mom said it was pretty. Beautiful. She asked if Little Miss Priscilla had slept.
“She is beautiful,” said Little Miss Priscilla.
She kept the painting. She looked at the painting every night. Her heart felt strong every time she looked. The Lady in Roses was the one who made her red.
The next time she slept, she dreamed of…
the Lady.
Little Miss Priscilla knew what the Lady looked like now, and she was her favorite person.
*
One night, Miss Priscilla couldn’t stop looking at the Lady. The paints were all dry. Her face never moved. Her eyes were so intense, but they weren’t real.
The painting was so perfect that it made her heart writhe. But it was just a painting of the real Lady in Roses. She rose from her bed and her heart was still squirming. The image of the Lady was branded in her eyes and her head. She wanted…
She wanted to see the Lady. To touch her roses. To taste her red from the source. The want was physical. It made her dizzy like she hadn’t been since her heart was sick. The Lady in Roses was in the castle: that’s what the doctor’s wife had said. People went to the castle sometimes. Sometimes they came back. No one who lived there ever came out.
But Miss Priscilla wanted to meet the Lady. She wanted to hear the Lady’s voice and her real name. She wanted to know the Lady’s scent.
She could barely breathe. She felt weak like she hadn’t been since her heart was sick. But her heart was strong. She had to go now.
Miss Priscilla skipped the whole way to the castle.