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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 16, 2010 10:22:35 GMT -5
ok, before i continue, i want to know something.
I can write a simple, short and sweet story with a HEA ending, but i cant really think of a very creative way to do that. On the other hand, i can write a longer, more creative, and maybe more interesting story, but it will have a tragic ending that might make you guys cry--i'm not kidding. Which would you prefer?
I'm opting for the tragic ending since i have mroe ideas for that, but since you guys are my readers, I want to know your opinions.
-orinocoflow
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Post by celticbear on Nov 16, 2010 21:09:57 GMT -5
Ori! I would like to have the HEA ending, it doesn't have to be creative just good!
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Post by laurenne on Nov 16, 2010 23:07:34 GMT -5
I'm going for the longer version.
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 16, 2010 23:32:35 GMT -5
ouch, its 1 for 1 ok, i think ill go with longer version, and if i feel like i have ideas i will do another version for the HEA ending sorry CB, but its really not my forte
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 16, 2010 23:32:52 GMT -5
can i get another vote? anyone?
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 20, 2010 20:49:55 GMT -5
sorry its so long! Paul winced as he lowered himself into the comfortable couch at one side of the room, jarring his ankle. Reaching down, he rubbed at the throbbing injury, surprised at the heat already gathering there.
Kathryn followed him in carrying a box with bandages in one hand and a small bag of ice in the other. While he had been limping his way over into the living room, she had stopped by the kitchen for the ice and somehow also managed to make an appearance in the bedroom to get the box. Smiling at a sudden memory of his mother doing the same when he had come home with a sprained wrist and bruised shin from an…”argument” with another boy when he was seven, Paul shifted on the couch to let her sit beside him.
“Here you go,” she said, her voice controlled as if she did this on a regular basis. “It might help to take your boot off,” she added, smiling when Paul paused, trying to think straight long enough to realize what he needed to do. Grinning foolishly, embarrassed at being caught that way, he unlaced the boot and tugged it off gingerly, careful not to hurt himself any more than he had already. When he placed the ice against the swollen ankle, he sucked his breath in sharply at the sting.
“Let me take a look at it; don’t worry, I’m a doctor, I know what I’m doing,” Kathryn continued, putting aside the box and turning to face him. Brushing aside his protests that he was fine and seemingly ignoring his face, red from ear to ear by now, she leaned down and ran a practiced hand over the ankle, testing where exactly it hurt.
“Where was Roger when he crossed the street this time?” she asked conversationally without looking up.
Paul glanced at her in surprise. “Out by…” When he said the street names, she paused for a moment before shaking her head.
“I told him not to go that far,” she muttered angrily under her breath. “Ever since his father has gone he has been rebelling against me, refusing to follow whatever instructions I give him, getting into fights, wandering for hours. If he is only seven now, what will he be like when he’s a teenager?” She sighed, shaking her head again and straightening, opening the box in the same easy, natural movement. “I am almost afraid to imagine.”
Paul sat there silently, not sure what to say to that; he had never had a good hand at these sort of conversations, and as the silence droned on, broken only by her rustling in the box, he realized that she was, fortunately, not waiting for a response from him.
Glancing around the room, he saw that there was no tree even though it was only the day after Christmas. In fact, there were no decorations at all, and no presents in anything remotely resembling a stocking.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” he asked casually.
Kathryn paused for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “No, not since his father…” she sighed. “Roger wouldn’t let me get a tree. He said his father would do it when he came home.” Her voice cracked at the last part, but she controlled herself, looking away.
Clearing his throat, he stole a look at her again. “Where’s his father?” he asked quietly, hoping that he was not touching a delicate topic. Judging by the way she pursed her lips without looking at him gave him his answer, and he regretted asking it and apologized, casting his eyes downward as she wrapped a bandage tightly around the injured ankle to keep it from moving. After a long time, however, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He went on a cruise with some friends, but their boat sank and there has been no sign of him. It’s been over a year, and I—” she broke off, her breath catching.
“I’m sorry,” murmured Paul honestly.
“The worst thing is that Roger does not believe that he is gone; he even asked Santa Claus to bring him back,” she managed to say, choking up. Blinking rapidly, she finished tending to him and rested his leg on a low stool standing by the couch.
“Keep that there for a bit, and try not to move it at all, if you can,” she instructed, standing up. “I’ll be back in a minute. Would you like anything to drink?” she asked. “I have some tea made, but if you would like I can find something stronger; it might also help with the pain for now.”
“Tea would be fine,” he replied, smiling lightly. His plan succeeded—she smiled back at him, her sorrow temporarily forgotten. She turned away, muttering something that sounded like “Men” under her breath, and he grinned. Yes, men did not like to admit pain. So what? It’s just the way we are.
When she returned with two cups of tea, a small bowl of sugar, and a plate of scones balanced on a tray, he was about to automatically stand up to help her when she said, “Sit. Don’t move that ankle at all.” Startled, he leaned back against the couch as he had been before she had come back in.
“You should have that actually checked out, just to make sure you’re all right,” she said, casting a concerned look at it.
Paul gave her a slight version of his eyebrow, a gleam in his eye that showed that the old Paul was coming back. “And here I thought I had heard you say you were a doctor,” he teased light-heartedly, deadpan. She smiled when she saw the expression on his face and could not help laughing.
“You remind me so much of him,” she said softly, the laughter fading as quickly as it had come. She had a thoughtful look on her face as she watched him try the scone and then, pausing, seem genuinely surprised.
“These are amazing!” he complimented. “The only ones I have had to compare to these are my mother’s, and that is saying something.”
She beamed at him, proud. “Thank you.” After a moment, she frowned slightly. “I just realized that I haven’t asked you your name yet; what is it?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. Paul Byrom,” he said, surprised that he hadn’t.
“It sounds a bit familiar,” she replied, looking at him in a new light.
“I’ve had a few concerts in Dublin; perhaps you’d seen an ad for one of them?” he suggested.
“Concerts? Do you play?”
“No, I actually sing. I’m a tenor,” he said, glad to have finally met someone that did not know him much, if at all.
And so they talked for several more hours, topics ranging from recent events to recollections of Christmases from the past, and eventually to closer, more personal, memories. And when he finally got ready to leave and managed to hold the weight on his right leg normally, she thanked him again and closed the door quietly behind him only when she saw that he had safely walked down the street and turned the corner, looking back at her at that last moment.
* * *
He looks so much like Daddy, thought Roger, laying awake in bed and thinking about the man in the living room talking to his mother. He has the same thick brown hair, the same sparkling blue eyes that seemed to glow whenever he was happy, and that laugh…they are all the same. Even his voice sounds similar, a beautiful, hypnotizing, musical voice that the Dublin lilt only added the magical quality to. All the same.
And he had hardly ever heard his mother laugh lately, but this man made her do so often, and she smiled almost every time when she looked at him, her face seemingly bright and alive. This man has a power that can bring anything to life, regardless how sad it had become. If only he could stay forever and share that warmth, that magical aura he had about him, with his mother, with him.
Sighing happily, he rolled over onto his side and had one of the best nights of sleep he had had since his father had gone away.
* * *
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Post by celticbear on Nov 20, 2010 22:37:08 GMT -5
Hey Ori! If you do bring the Dad back! It sure would be funny if he turned out to be related to Paul in some way,that would explain the similiarities between the two men! Just a thought. Anyways great UPDATE! Can't wait to see how this story ends!
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 21, 2010 12:20:44 GMT -5
uh...the dad is dead
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Post by laurenne on Nov 21, 2010 16:08:36 GMT -5
Happy and sad at the same time. I can't wait to find out what happens next. Update soon, please.
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Post by meg_cahill21 on Nov 21, 2010 20:15:42 GMT -5
awww... this is soo cute and sad!!!! please update soon!!!
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Post by celticbear on Nov 21, 2010 23:08:35 GMT -5
Well ori the way you wrote it, it was not clear if he was dead or just still missing.
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 22, 2010 0:22:56 GMT -5
ok. point taken , CB.
its just that i wrote that its been a year, no word, no contact, no nothing, so i was kind of hoping that readers would assume...
oh well, now its out there--he's dead, not coming back, end of story.
im a little stuck, so no updates for a while.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 5, 2010 21:26:03 GMT -5
hey all readers,
I wont be posting any new updates until after christmas because i have literally no time to write them, so bear with me!
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 17, 2010 4:09:36 GMT -5
Okay, did not feel like sleeping, so ended up writing a few more updates for this story. A few minutes after I post this, I will go back and edit the last update, but nothing major, just grammar and sentence structure. No, wait, there is one thing, so you might need to re-read that as well, sorry. Just the previous update, that's all. Paul knocked quietly on the door the day before New Year’s Eve. Roger had gone out with some friends, and Paul had decided to make at least one late Christmas wish come true.
When Kathryn opened the door, she had this absolutely astonished expression on her face.
“Paul? What brings you here today?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in, but he shook his head and stayed where he was, glancing at something on the staircase beside him.
“I brought a present for tomorrow. Since you hadn’t had any for Christmas, I thought I might make at least part of the magic come true,” he explained, shaking the snow from his hair and shoulders.
Kathryn frowned slightly and moved forward, looking around the doorjamb to the staircase. When she saw what was there, her eyes widened.
“Oh, Paul, you didn’t have to! Why? You hardly even know us!”
“Because I think that I should. Besides, I cut it down myself, and there is no way that I’m taking it away, so you might as well give up.” He smiled, his breath visible in the cold air as he beamed at her, and she stepped back again to invite him in.
“In that case, how can I say no?” she replied, smiling back at him as he struggled to get the large tree into the house. Immediately, the fresh smell of the green branches filled the house, and she breathed in deeply the scent that she had longed almost two years for.
“I’ll help you decorate it so that it’ll be done by the time he comes home,” he said, holding the tall tree.
Kathryn shook her head in amazement, closing the door and taking his coat. “Let me see if I can find the stand; it should be in the closet. Can you put it in the living room, please?”
“Sure,” but as soon as he took a step, the tree swung by and hit him in the right ankle. Groaning, he leaned on the tree for a moment until the pain passed, but before he could continue he felt her hand on his shoulder.
“If it still hurts, you shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, steering him towards the couch in the living room. Even so, Paul lifted the tree and managed to get it into the corner where it would stand, tall and fresh and beautiful.
When he finally sat back down on the couch he had been on only a few days before, she disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two cups of tea.
“Here, drink this; you’ll warm up quicker.” The fireplace was going, and Paul thanked her, smiling at her happier expression than it had been before.
“How’s your ankle?”
“It’s alright, should be fine in a day or two,” he said cautiously.
“You didn’t have it checked out, did you?” she asked with a knowing twist to her lips. Paul suddenly found the homemade tea fascinating, slightly shaking his head as he wrapped his hands around the warm cup. Sighing, she stood back up.
“Would you like some more of those scones you had last time?” Given the excited look on his face, she smiled and came back with a plate, watching as he took one eagerly.
After a few minutes of talking about what had happened in the past few days, Paul placed the cup and plate on the low coffee table and stood up. Walking over to the tree, the two of them set it up so that a few hours later, when Roger came back home, the first thing he saw was the tree…and the presents underneath it.
“Dad? Mom, is Dad back? Mom!” he called, running into the kitchen and skidding to a halt when he saw his mother standing beside the man from before, the one who looked so much like Dad that for a moment he thought it had actually been him. And they were standing right next to each other, talking in low tones, and he saw that his mother had been laughing, given the broad smile she had on her face, one that had not been there since Dad had left, unless you count the first day the man had come.
Paul stepped back from Kathryn awkwardly, watching the boy carefully, knowing that one wrong word would be catastrophic.
“Roger…actually, Mr. Byrom was kind enough to bring the tree today, and he cut it down fresh from the spot you always do with Dad, remember? That same dip in the hill where only a few trees grow? He got it from there,” she said warmly, placing her arms around his shoulders and pressing his back against her as he turned to look at Paul with more curiosity.
“Did Dad tell you where to get the tree?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling.
Paul glanced at Kathryn for help in answering that, not sure which was the correct answer. She quickly gave a shake of her head, her eyes sad with memories. Kneeling in front of Roger, Paul stood the same height as the boy, ignoring the sharp pain in his leg.
“No, I guess I just knew. The best trees come from there, we actually always used to cut our trees down from there because they would last the longest when we put them up,” he explained, smiling.
Roger’s eyes widened. “Really? You got them from there too? How’d you know?”
Paul shrugged easily, relaxing as the hardest part was crossed. Grinning, Roger stole a glance at the tree.
“Can I open the presents? Or are they for tomorrow?” he asked, almost jumping up and down with excitement.
Paul smiled and leaned back on his heels, wincing as the right one protested. “Well, if it’s okay with your mother, I say go ahead and open them,” he said, looking up at Kathryn. Grinning, Roger tilted his head back and gave his most convincing grin ever.
“Please?”
For a moment, Kathryn froze, looking at the two pairs of pleading eyes staring at here, both of them bright blue and sparkling. The chestnut hair was ruffled on both of them, and she noticed a small scar on Paul’s jaw…that was identical to her son’s. Gasping when she saw it, she forced a smile and nodded, pushing Roger lightly towards the living room.
“Go ahead, but wait until I get there to rip that beautiful paper into shreds, alright?”
Paul exchanged glances with Roger and winked, touching his shoulder to urge him on, and the boy charged off and almost tackled the tree, sorting through the presents to see which were his. To his delight, almost all of them were.
“Mom, come on, hurry up!”
Paul gripped the table and stood up, careful not to put any weight onto his injured leg, and turned to Kathryn with a small frown.
“Is everything alright? You worried me there with that look on your face,” he said softly so that Roger would not hear. Kathryn looked at him for a long time, not sure how to say it, but at Roger’s second call she shook her head marginally and hurried into the living room, pausing only to make sure that Paul could walk.
* * *
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 17, 2010 4:12:05 GMT -5
second update will go up tomorrow evening after people read this one, so that you all have time to catch up.
hope you like !
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