The Scrapbook!

@acancello

This is a great idea! I love your description! 😃

I recently had to do a string-along story in school. Basically, the title is one word, then from there the sentences grow in length. I made it a short version of a WIP I worked on when I was in… third grade? 🤣

Anyway, here it is:

Wolf

Sirius ran. Over the hills. Past the rocky coasts. Into a wild crimson forest. Each leaf was a vibrant red. What was stranger, each creature was blue. Cerulean squirrels chittered and darted through the trees. Sapphire rabbits sprinted through the fiery grass, ears pricked. A pearl white crescent moon hovered above it all. Howls echoed through the night, bringing all prey to silence. The wolves ruled this forest, and each creature knew it well. Sirius added her own call to the chorus, hoping to find her pack. After her long absence, would they even remember that she was their leader? If not, it would be back to long, weary nights of wandering alone, drifting. Her paws carried her swiftly, silently, until the thick canopy blocked out the ivory moon. She paused long enough to sniff the air, and caught the scent of a faraway wolf. Running there could go horribly wrong- she could be smelling an enemy pack- but she didn’t care. So she continued on, winding between the trees and leaping bushes, following the trail left in the air. Finally, she spotted a flash of blue, and backtracked to find a wolf lapping water from a shimmering lake. Despite her sharp sense of smell, she couldn’t remember the scent to tell if he was a friend or foe. Padding carefully forward, she crept closer until his pointed ears twitched up, and his head lifted, turning to stare at her. His piercing yellow eyes watched her, and he stepped away from the water, his azure snout lifting in a long, drawn-out howl. Not a minute later wolves came from all directions, circling Sirius and pawing at the ground, and to her surprise, each one bowed.

@esther-c

Thanks!

@acancello

I’m back! 🤣

This is an intro I enjoyed from a WIP that I may or may not continue.

Lori watched from the peak of Crescent Tower, looking out over her kingdom, now bright and colorful with a slight fall breeze. She knew soon it would turn to winter’s freezing chill, and cherished this moment of peace and happiness. The winter was harsh in a land ruled by fire.

Being the Keeper, most would think Lori was the ruler of the kingdom. Yes, that was her title, and yes, that was her job, but someone must have forgotten to tell the Shifters. The flame beings were corrupted, hateful, and had spread their terror across Illumina. It was unforgivable, and she wanted to fight back, but it was impossible.

How could anyone fight fire? Even water hadn’t done anything to the blue flames that haunted her land. Ice melted against their fiery rage, and any cage was easy for them to escape. Lack of oxygen hadn’t been studied as far as she knew- but how to get millions of the creatures somewhere without air at once? Surely that would only cause things to become worse.

Lori had held on to hope that maybe, just maybe, someone would rise against the monsters, and find a way to defeat them. It wouldn’t be her. No, she would stay up here in this wind-guarded tower as her father commanded, even though she was the Keeper, and he had retired. She was safe, but she could hardly sleep knowing the terrors that awaited her kingdom.

As far as Lori could tell, Illumina was beyond hope. The Shifters could take on any fiery form they wished, and even appear to not be flames at all. The only way you could tell for sure was by touching one, or if they let you see them for what they really were. While most Shifters chose to keep their flaming appearance, some hid among the people as spies, crushing any rebellion that may arise.

“Lori.” She turned to see her father’s gaze. His eyes were sad, full of wistful longing to return to the sea, where he had felt alive. He didn’t want her to know, but she did. It was easy to tell he felt trapped in this place that he himself had ordered they hide in. “Is something troubling you?”

All of Lori’s emotions came to the surface at once. Anger at the Shifters, fear of what would become of Illumina, sadness at her inability to help, and regret that she hadn’t acted sooner.

“Of course something is troubling me!” she said, surprising herself with her outburst, but she carried on. “I’m stuck up here, sitting idle in this ridiculous tower, while my kingdom is a smoldering ruin! My people are dying and we can do nothing!”
Raiya, Lori’s messenger swan, who was perched on the rail surrounding the tower, let out a shrill cry of agreement.

“I know you are angry,” her father said, and his eyes met hers with a fiery certainty. “But we will find a way. Illumina won’t go down so easily.”
“So easily!” Lori exclaimed. “You underestimate the seriousness of this! This isn’t about you and your longing to go back to the sea! I don’t care about the sea, or the land!” She slammed her fist on the rail. “My people are in danger! How many will die if we fall the hard way?”

“Someone will find a way,” her father said. “I might not live to see it, but our kingdom will survive. I can feel it in these old bones. Trust me, if there’s one thing I know- and I hope I’ve gained some wisdom from all these years- is that the Creator doesn’t need you to accomplish his plans. He can use anyone, and anything, and even nothing.”

Leaving her father at the rail, Lori stomped inside in a rage, and Raiya flapped inside, landing to preen her snow-white feathers. Lori rushed into her room, slammed the door, and swept everything off of her desk with a hand. She fell back onto her bed, breathing hard, and screamed into her pillow.

Whether her father could feel it or not, they were in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Thanks for adding me, @acancello. Y’all are so good!

Here’s a snapshot of Susan’s Journey Home, a Narnia fanfic:

Susan looked down at her plate and picked at the vegetables. There was no meat in the foods on it since Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta were vegetarians. Mother used to make meat, Susan thought to herself as she mindlessly ate at the silent table, wonderful spiced meats. She used to invite me into the kitchen to help. She’d give me directions and I’d do it, even if I didn’t know what I was doing; it always came out alright in the end with Mother’s guidance. I wish I had more time… Susan stood up abruptly and cleared her place. She put the dishes in the sink. Why hadn’t she had more time? Because of the war, She told herself, but in her heart she knew it was a lie. She had wasted her time being popular and fashionable.

Susan walked aimlessly to Uncle Harold’s study and chose a seat next to the chessboard. Edmund loved to play chess and all sorts of games and sports, Susan reminced. He was so young, he and Lucy, oh, dear sweet Lucy…

Susan stood up and walked away from the wooden chess table and to the apple wood book shelf, but the old memories crowded her there too. Father loved to read. He used to invite me to climb up on his lap and read the Psalms or I’d listen to his deep voice read the beloved tales of Robin Hood. That was before the war and after the the war his mind was off in another place because of what he had seen there and so he took to lecturing…Susan longed to be with her parents or have some familiar thing about home be near her. Even the smell of her father’s smoky pipe, or anyone’s pipe, would make her satisfied, but Uncle Harold was not a smoker and Susan was not going to search for someone that was.

Susan turned away from the bookshelf, recalling a particular thing made of very similar, if not the same, wood from her childhood that she had thought she had forgotten–something that belonged in a large house out in the country…which naturally turned her thoughts to Lucy who discovered it. I should have trusted Lucy more and not have been so mean on her and Edmund. I thought Lucy was just being childish and I didn’t realize…she was braver than all of us. I didn’t give her credit for all of her traits. She was beautiful, though not necessarily in looks. In her smile you could see genuine love. She was genuine…Susan eyes watered with the thought of her little sister whom she could have been closer to if she had tried–if she had cared.

Susan went back to the shelf and examined the titles of the book, her fingers lightly touching them, but saw none that particularly caught her fancy. She looked around the room at anything else that she could examine, but didn’t really care if she saw anything because she was headed up to her room anyway and would just have a good cry and then have a fitful sleep.

Above Uncle Harold’s desk was a plaque. Susan stepped closer to see it. It was Uncle Harold’s law degree from Cambridge. It looked like Peter’s degree from Oxford that hung back in Susan’s parents house in London. Oh, Peter! Susan lamented, I’ll miss you. I am sorry I called it silly and childish when you talked about it…when you had wonderful memories of that place where you were the magnificent high king. And I’m so sorry I didn’t love you like a younger sister should. I’m sorry I thought of myself better than you. I wish I could apologize to you in the flesh. I wish you were still alive–all of you. I wish I wasn’t the only Pevensie still here!

Tears slid down her cheeks and splashed on the shoulders on her dress and she collapsed in Uncle Harold’s office chair and couldn’t rise until she felt a little better by squeezing immense sorrow out of her head in the form of freely falling tears.

Susan walked down the hall, feeling hollow. Though she didn’t know why, she turned the handle of a door and entered, finding it to be her cousin’s bedroom. Decaying dead beetles were pinned to labeled cards all around the room, clearly forgotten by the boy on school holidays. I never knew Eustace all that well. Edmund and Lucy stayed with him while I was in America with Father and Mother…

Aunt Alberta was passing in the hall and seeing the ajar door, peeked in the doorway and looked around the room. Her normally controlled expression suddenly unveiled itself to reveal the deep grief hidden beneath. She jerked her handkerchief over her face and hurried down the hall, sobbing. Susan felt oddly comforted by her aunt because she realized that she wasn’t alone in memories and grief.

Susan shivered against the cold wind, but she didn’t care to think about fur coats at the moment. She just wanted to walk and immerse herself in the traffic and noise of the city–real life instead of emotions. A newsboy shouted somewhere and cars honked at her as she crossed the street. She didn’t know or care where she was headed, but only that her two feet were going and her mind was trying to be preoccupied and not thinking of…other things.

After a while she began to really look around herself and found that she had gone farther than she thought. In front of her was a small modest chapel and parsonage. The large stained glass window above the doors depicted a cross and the heavy oak doors were closed, but inviting organ music still flitted out to the street.

There was something that drew Susan toward it–an unknown calling. A cool raindrop splashed on her cheek and her bare arms as more drizzled down around her. Susan hurriedly walked up the stone steps and entered. It was warm, smelled clean and welcoming. On the walls were paintings of gardens, animals, fields, and oceans. The color tones made them happy and peaceful. One in particular caught Susan’s eye–one of a lion and a lamb together in a field. The lion appeared to be staring out of the picture. Susan wanted to look away, but something depicted in the great cat’s terribly beautiful eyes held her gaze. It was a while before she noticed that the organ music had stopped and that the organist was standing behind her.

 “That’s my favorite too,” said the woman behind her. Susan spun around and the woman smiled softly. “I’m Louisa Maewyn the chaplin’s wife”

 “I’m Susan Pevensie.” Susan stammered.

“Perchance related to Alberta Pevensie? Oh no, I guess it’s Scrubb now isn’t it?”

“She’s my father’s sister, yes.”

–Susan goes on to discover that Louisa is the painter that Aunt Alberta didn’t want to offend, the painter who had a mentorship role in young Alberta’s life, the painter who had also had an adventure in Narnia. Then Louisa begins to share with Susan the Gospel and clearly shows that the Aslan of Narnia is a picture of Jesus in our world. “I suppose every created world will have sin from fallen creatures. And every world will need a Savior. Narnia has Aslan. In our world he is known by a different name: Jesus Christ. By knowing him a little there, you can know Him better here. Sue, Jesus knows you and wants you to know Him.”–

Susan hurriedly swept her handkerchief across her eyes and blew her nose as she walked up the porch steps of Uncle Harold’s house.  It was too much, too much, too much…  She wished she could stop her flow of emotions, but couldn’t.  As she reached for the door handle, after stuffing her hankie back in her clutch, her eyes fell upon the door knocker.  She froze in her tracks as the lion’s head sternly stared at her–sharply kicking her conscience and stabbing her heart.  For a second she was startled and then she melted down to the steps and tears started falling again.

It’s all too much! Then Susan looked up and whispered to herself, her voice cracking, “Had I forgotten? Had I forgotten?!”

She boldly got up and rushed inside the to the back bedroom she was staying in, still repeating, “Had I forgotten?”  She scanned her room, bursting with sudden excitement–something she had nearly forgotten existed.  Her eyes fell upon the object she was looking for.  She had disregarded the tiny leather journal sitting on the tiny writing desk before, but now she picked it up with renewed interest.  On the front it said, “Lucy”.  Susan’s fingers lightly touched golden lettering.  She opened it and, while flipping through, her eyes fell to the words, Narnia, Aslan, Caspian, Edmund, Eustace, Repicheep, and Trumpkin.  She held this treasure to her heart, tears falling freely. “I do remember, I do, I do!”

She leaned against the doorway, overcome by excitement, memory, and fatigue.

@acancello My older sister and I have been writing away on it for years, but those are the sections that I wrote. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thanks! 😁