I was wondering what on earth I would write about for a post every week, so I decided to follow the example of other bloggers and write a sort of continuing story. And so I present to you Whatever I Draw, a random story inspired by a Google Doodle (in case you don’t know what that is: Google Doodle)
Now, I know that technically I didn’t publish a post last week (yes, now I know how to say that I posted a post without using the word “post” twice 😛 ), but this was ready to post last week. I just needed to think of a cool pen name and have it approved by everyone. Which took a while.
Anyhow, to give you a quick synopsis, Whatever I Draw will be about a young guy named Tullier and a magic pencil that can do magic things. (It’s not as stupid as that sounds, trust me.) Well, I won’t tell you any more, as what follows should explain everything (well, not everything, but a lot). Enjoy!
Whatever I Draw
By Eliza May
Tullier sped down the wet sidewalk, his sneakers making a slapping sound, except for when they hit a puddle with a splash. He skidded around a corner, momentarily slowing, and then picked up speed again. From the heavy, still, gray sky came a thick drizzle of warm rain – the worst kind, which is not at all refreshing. In a way, he was glad for it; it kept people off the streets and out of his way. He had seen only a few, and those had been hurrying along under the cover of their umbrellas.
With a groan, Tullier flung himself against one of the dripping buildings that lined the street and rested there for a moment, with his back up against the wall. Then he forced himself to get up and keep going. He peeled himself from the wall and continued on, though slower than before, hardly faster than a trot, in fact.
After a few more minutes of this, he slowed down even further, and began looking at street signs. Apparently seeing the one he wanted, he turned a corner that led to a rather unpleasant-looking avenue. It was even grayer and more dull than the rest of the city had seemed, if that was possible. The buildings, crumbling tenements, looked as if they would collapse at any moment.
Muttering under his breath, Tullier counted. “One, two, three, four…. Five, six with the broken handle, two more from there, seven, eight… and up.” He stopped before the eighth door, and gingerly glanced around. The street was deserted.
He clenched his fist once, whether from nervousness or to warm his stiffened fingers was unclear. Then he grasped the doorknob. It didn’t turn. “No,” moaned Tullier. “No, not again. Please.” He jostled it, and this time, the door gave way, swinging open unexpectedly.
Tullier was thrown forward, off balance, but quickly he righted himself. Glancing about once again, he shut the door and found himself in a dark little hallway with a door on either side and a staircase leading up into darkness. “Eight and up,” he whispered to himself. “Eight and up.”
Hesitantly, he looked up at the dark stairs again, unwilling to climb them. Could he really trust his source? A creak sounded in the silence, causing him to jump. He clenched his fists and bit his lip, trembling. For several minutes, he didn’t move. He heard no other sounds, only the patter of rain outside.
Then he started towards the stairs again, his heart pounding so heavily that he could feel it pulsing the blood through his veins. The old tenement creaked once more, and again he froze, but for not quite as long as before. Warily, as if it might explode on contact, Tullier put his foot on the first step, and then, when nothing happened, he trusted his weight to it. It moaned in protest, but held, and he continued up the dark steps, taught as a bowstring.
Suddenly, his heart leapt into his mouth and he nearly yelled. There was a dark… thing… a shape… in a heap on the stairs. For all the world, it looked like a person, crouched and covered with rags. His overactive mind jumped to the thought of a decrepit old man, or maybe someone dead. It didn’t move, whatever it was.
He almost squeezed his eyes shut, so that he could reopen them and be somewhat refreshed, but he stopped himself just in time. There was no knowing what would happen when his eyes were shut. Trembling, he drew from his tattered, rain-soaked hoodie a pencil. He grasped it as if it were life itself. Then he fumbled around in his pocket until he drew forth a piece of paper, folded, and mostly dry, thankfully.
He unfolded it and gingerly, still keeping an eye on the unidentified thing, put it up against the wall, the most convenient, although cobwebby, hard surface. Then he began to draw, rapidly, the pencil quickly forming lines which joined to others, then curves, and even a bit of shading. In the dim light it was difficult to draw, and the lines weren’t completely straight, but he managed it.
After a minute, he stopped and took a step back, still keeping one hand on the paper, though, so that it wouldn’t fall. He had drawn a lit candle in a holder. Then he took a deep breath and, hurriedly looking about, muttered, “What I have drawn may it be made real.”
An instant later, he was holding in his hand a candle, exactly like the one he had drawn, complete with candlestick and uneven edges. The paper was gone. The flickering flame illuminated the building that probably had not seen such light for many a year.
I hope you all liked it! Next week, Tullier’s adventures will continue….