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So tell me, what's it like living in a constant haze of stupidity?
« Thread started on: Mar 31st, 2008, 7:56pm »
((I was assigned to write a fictional story about this painting from the renaissance: http://press.princeton.edu/images/k7120.gif
I liked how it turned out and thought I'd share it. ^^))
Rachel gazed out the window towards the midnight sky, her cheek resting upon her hand. Sleep that night had almost completely eluded her. Distraught by her circumstances, she stared out, not at things in this world, nor the next, but in worlds unseen by all other eyes. “He be coming not,” Rachel sighed heavily. “To marry Fredric, the repulsive, chauvinistic pig tha’ he be, t’would be a ‘orrible fate,” she murmured. She then began twirling the ends of her fiery locks pensively, until a sharp rapping on her bed-chamber door nearly caused her to take the Lord’s name in vain.
“Rachel? Might’st thee let me inside? ‘Tis thy bosom friend, Elizabeth,” a voice from behind the door pleaded.
Hesitantly, Rachel rose to unlock the door. Elizabeth stood, the candle illuminating her ocean blue eyes, golden curls cascading down her shoulders.
“Close them shutters a’fore a cold thee catch,” she said, avoiding her true motive for approaching her. Upon seeing Rachel’s distress, she continued, “Rachel, Sir Fredric shall make thee a fine husband I know’st thine heart singing be, it be crying out for thy dear Jonathan the Painter, but fortruth sister, how think you? Doth he be ‘ere? Your eyes, doth him they see? Do thine ears hear his voice? Nay, sister! Accept such a meager dowry, a humble painter cannot. Not even for a fair maiden, such as thyself.”
“I shalt take place in a loveless marriage, Elizabeth! Not I!” she spat, raising her voice, “Not to a selfish old man such as Fredric!”
“Sir Fredric, thou ought forget not tha’ he is a Sir. He could provide for thy family, in its entirety,” she muttered just loud enough for Rachel to hear.
Rachel stared incredulously. Elizabeth knew that monetary gain was of little consequence to her. “Doth mine ears deceive me? Be these truly the words of my dear friend, my sister, Elizabeth?”
“Look at me not in that light. Sister, Jonathan hath abandoned thee. The coward ought tah be half way to York by this time. Sir Fredric ‘as already pocketed the dowry. Every thing rings the dowry. Thou hast not a choice,” Elizabeth scolds her, then softens her tone, “Prithee, sleep well this night. I pray it shalt be thy last pleasant slumber.” Elizabeth turns, closing the door, leaving Rachel alone with her thoughts.
Rachel kneeled for several minutes, her head clutched in her hands. Even if Jonathan were to arrive know, she knew it was too late. Sir Fredric had the dowry, and they were to be wed on the ‘morrow at high noon. She had been sold like cattle to the man that would be most beneficial to her family. Sir Fredric was willing to accept a smaller dowry to “care for her” and put her family in a higher class.
After saying her prayers, Rachel closed the shutters and went into a troubled sleep. For those of heavy hearts can never find rest.
The following morning, she woke with a start. The aroma of flowers filled the air as thickly as old ale, thick enough to make breathing for Rachel a difficult task. She quickly pulled on a velvet green dress and fled the house.
It was the bitter-sweet day of holy matrimony; the very atmosphere sickened Rachel. The dress she was meant to wear this day was a blinding white. She hadn’t the heart to tell her mother that she gave up the right to a white dress long ago, the day she met Jonathan.
A man clad in black and grays approached the brooding Rachel grimly. He was holding a piece of canvas tightly in his hands. “Mi’lady,” he called out, “be thee acquainted with Jonathan the Painter?”
“Yes sir. But I have not seen him as of late,” she replies, “Afraid I be that if thou art looking for him, I be not of any help.”
“I be afraid I knowest where he be,” he lowers his head. “Last night, he trespassed in a man’s yard. Thinking Jonathan was a bandit, did he slay the poor painter. This t’was found in his home. I believe the right to ‘ave it ‘tis thine.”
Once finished talking, the man put the canvas in her hand, revealing a painting the very likeness of her, entitled, “Virtue and Beauty”.