Freedom of Imagination
"Sometimes when facing the hardships of life, turning to our imagination is the best thing we can do."
Writing is one of my favorite hobbies. I write quite a bit, and in fact am in the middle of writing my first novel. As far as style is concerned, I write just about anything; from poems to fan-fiction, to novellas – horror, fantasy, thrillers, romance, and drama. I do it all. On this page, you’ll be able to find different examples of my work, as well as updates on projects I’m currently working on, and anything else that has to do with my writing.
Oh, and did you find my beautiful tribute to Mr. Barrie tear-jerking? I did, well, I admit, I did cry when I wrote it. But if you didn't at least feel something when you read it, you are emotionally incompetent.
Note: I would like to remind you that any content on this site is copyrighted, and that any reproduction of any of the content of these stories is strictly forbidden. Just take that as a fair warning. I'm highly protective of my work, and I will not hesitate to press charges or bite you.
Featurettes
Mrs. Rainey
Disclaimer
I do not own the rights to Secret Window or any of the characters or themes from the movie. However, new characters and/or themes are mine and only mine. Any reproduction is unintentional.
Inspired by true events
My bloodshot eyes could barely stay open as I fumbled with the kind in the lock. I was extremely exhausted. Being up for seventy-two hours straight could do that to a person, and I wanted nothing more than a giant sleeping pill and my bed. On the drive home, I could imagine the soft suede comforter enveloping my fatigued body and my head resting on a feather pillow where I would finally be able to shut my eyes…intentionally that is. At that moment, sleep seemed to be more valuable than gold.
The door finally burst open, but my bag instantly plummeted from my grasp and hit the floor with a thud. “Holy shit!” I mumbled and had to lean against the bureau to keep my balance. A man was lying leisurely on my bed, flipping through the pages of a hunter green spiral. He was donned in gray slacks, an inky sweater, and a ratty turquoise striped bathrobe that hung loosely from his lean frame. Ash blond hair fell rowdily from his head, a few strands the same deep, secretive brown of his eyes.
“This is very good, he said lifting his gaze from the spiral and twisted a smile at me. My knees began to tremble and I felt my fingernails imprint the dark cherry oak of the bureau.
“Where did you get that?” I stammered, glaring at the spiral like it was a form of black magic. I recognized it immediately; the well-read papers crinkled from beneath the dilapidated green of the cardboard bindings. It was my writing ledger from not even a year ago, but I had watched it burn; the flames of fire consumed it until it was only particles of ash in the hearth. And now, here it was, just as I had last remembered it, in the hands of a man whose stares had gored into my every organ. “I don’t believe I know you,” I said at last.
“That doesn’t matter. I know you, Mrs. Rainey.” Said the man in a deviant southern drawl.
“You’re mistaken,” I’m not Mrs. Rainy.” I gulped. “My name is Vianne.”
“No, you’re the one mis’taken, Missus Rainey.” His voice alone was like a thousand needles piercing through my flesh. He stood up, walked over, and circled me with bitter critiquing eyes and a twisted smile before gently pushing the door closed. I stood frozen, too petrified to even shudder.
“You’re not real.” I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath. “You’re not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination.”
“Prove it.” He said sharply, standing so close to me that I could feel the waft of his breath kiss the tip of my nose.
I bit my bottom lip and walked over to a chest of drawers. “Okay,” I said feeling the man’s presence looming close behind me. Opening the drawer, I pulled out my DVD, “Secret Window.” “There,” I handed it to him. “You’re not real. You’re only a character created by Stephen Kind. You’re only a character in this movie played by Johnny Depp. Nothing more. So really, I know you, Mort Rainey. You’re don’t exist.” I tried to be assertive, but I sounded more like a whimpering dog than anything else. He hardly looked at his own face on the DVD before tossing it behind him. His face played a smirk that made my gut twist and he sat back down on the bed with a knowing smile.
He took a black velvet case from his inner robe pocket. “No, I believe you’re mis’taken ag’in, Missus Rainey.” He said stroking the case as if it were a loyal pet. My eyes quivered when he opened the case and the gold and silver screwdrivers shimmered in the light and gleamed in the lenses of his glasses. My gaze stayed locked on the tools displayed like the finest jewelry, each resting on a cushion of velvet. There were four of them, two Phillips and a standard, and he brushed his hand over them, as if contemplating which one to use, before he snapped the lid shut again.
He rose to his feet and walked toward me, and I found myself backing slowly away until I hit a wall, horror possessing my eyes. “You’re sure purdy, Missus Rainey,” he said, and seized my wrist so hard that I could hear the crackling of my bones, and pain surged through my arm like it was set ablaze. As I winced, he smiled a bloody smile that made me want to vomit. Suddenly, he began to whisper something. It was so quiet that I strained to hear it, but it grew louder with every step he took. “Mr. Rainey had an ax…Gave his mother forty whacks…when he say what he done…He gave Mrs. Rainey forty-one.” I gasped as I saw the fires of Hell flicker in the pupils of his eyes and he hand rise above his head, a blood-dripping ax held lethally in his white-knuckled grip. “…Her death will be a mystery, even to me,” he hissed and gored the ax into my chest…
I sprung up into a sitting position, and exasperated breaths left my body in pants. I was drenched in sweat and trembled so badly I wasn’t sure I could stand. “It was only a dream,” I reassured myself as I staggered over to the light switch. “Get a hold of yourself.” But as I flicked the switch, my wrist throbbed with indescribable pain so badly that I yelped and hot, blistering tears scorched my cheeks. In the light, I noticed that my wrist was swollen and splotched black with bruises. I attempted to make it back to my bed, but sunk to my knees when I heard a crack beneath my feet. Lying beneath me was my “Secret Window” DVD, and a single crack blossomed from Mort’s face. Abruptly, the screech of my alarm clock bellowed, shattering my eardrums into a thousand pieces. I glanced up at the furious red digits of the clock. It was only four past midnight.
The End copyright ©VianneLee2005
Diferente Visión
Disclaimer
I do not own the rights to Once Upon a Time in Mexico or any of the characters or themes from the movie. However, new characters and/or themes are mine, and only mine. Any reproduction is unintentional.
Every morning Adriana would pass by the run-down restaurant, a sad, lonely building of red brick. And every morning, a man would be sitting up against the building, a different book open in his lap, but he’d just be looking straight ahead; not at the words that sailed across the pages, or at the many Passer Byers on their way to work. He just gazed straight ahead, as if he were waiting for something. It was the same, rain or shine – dark sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and he gazed out of them like he was seeing a different view each morning.
Finally, after weeks of passing by the man, the curiosity had gotten the best of Adriana and she decided at least she could to was talk to this mysterious man. “Hola,” she said pleasantly.
The man didn’t turn his head. “Hola,” he muttered.
“ Tú Americano, si?” The man only nodded. “Entonces yo presumir tu hablar ingles?” She asked, hoping the man could speak English. Although she had been in Mexico for a few months, her Spanish wasn’t very good.
“Si, Yo presumir tu hablar ingles como bein?” The man asked, still only half interested in their conversation.
“Yes,” Adriana replied relieved. Finally someone else of her native tongue! “You mind if I sit down?”
“It’s not my sidewalk. Do as you please.” He stated bluntly.
“Thanks,” she awkwardly sat down beside him. “I’m Adriana,” she introduced herself, offering him a hand.
“Sheldon,” he replied, but didn’t return her gesture.
“You sit here every morning.” Adriana finally said trying to think of something to say that might strike conversation.
“You pass by here every morning.”
“What is it that you’re reading?” She’d try a different approach. He appeared to be interested in books; perhaps they could click from there.
“Nothing,” he sighed and ran his hand along the crease of the book. This puzzled Adriana, but looking at her watch, she realized she’d be late for work if she didn’t leave shortly.
“I have to take off,” she said standing up, using the wall for support. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” The man didn’t say anything and Adriana continued on her way, just like every day.
Another week went by, and Adriana walked by the building at the same time each morning, and each morning Sheldon was still sitting there. She didn’t completely ignore the man in black, and each time she thought he was looking at her, she waved and smiled, but he never waved back. Finally, one morning she left her home early and decided to attempt to get to know the man again.
She sat down next to Sheldon. “Hello,” he said with a sigh “You’re early.” He continued to look straight ahead.
“Hi.” She paused. “I wave at you every morning, but you never wave back.” She blurted. She might as well start the conversation with something he couldn’t exactly avoid answering to.
Sheldon shrugged his shoulders. “Hmmm…I must not see you.”
“How can you not possibly not see me? I walk right in front of you every morning and you’re always looking at me.” Adriana was getting frustrated with the man’s hopelessly lax answers.
“Bad eyes, I guess.”
“Don’t you work? Or have somewhere you need to be every morning?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay then,” Adriana was now more baffled then confused. Suddenly, she had an idea. “I tell you what. Why don’t you have breakfast with me tomorrow – 7:00 at Rosa Café.”
“I could do that,” The man said.
Adriana walked through the doors of Rosa Café at seven o’ clock the next morning. She noticed Sheldon sitting at a table at the far corner of the shop, staring straight ahead as he always did. For the first time, Adriana really studied the man’s features. He was lean, but muscular, and of average height. His black hair flowed straightly from his head and was about the length of his low jaw-point. It was tucked neatly behind his ears revealing prominent cheekbones and a cutting jaw line. But one thing remained the same. The sunglasses.
She walked over to the table and sat down across from him “Good Morning,” she said pleasantly. Sheldon only nodded. A waitress dressed in a teal dress with a white apron approached the table.
“ qué lata Yo conseguir tu?” the waitress asked ready to take their orders.
“tequila con lima.” Sheldon said and the waitress stared at the clock on the wall and shrugged. A tequila this early in the morning? Whatever, he was a paying customer and if he asked for a tequila, he’d get a tequila.
“Coffee, agradar” Adriana said and the waitress left to fulfill their orders.
Adriana questioned why she had asked this man out for breakfast. Sure, she knew the man's name, but nothing more. She liked to take risks, but no matter how hard she tried to spark conversation, she could never get the man to say more than a couple of words. There was something she wasn't seeing about this man - something dark, and secretive, and she sensed it was right in front of her nose.
"It's...uh.... lovely weather we're having today, isn't it?" she asked, gazing outside the window at the hot and shabby Mexican city.
"I wouldn't know." was all he said.
What? She was just becoming more and more confused the more she talked to the man...was he like a Gandhi figure or something?
The waitress brought out their drinks. She placed a steaming cup of auburn, coffee in front of Adriana, and a small shot glass of tequila in front of Sheldon. Adriana slowly sipped her coffee, staring at Sheldon, who seemed to be staring directly at her. He didn't touch his tequila; in fact, she didn't think he realized the waitress had brought it out to him.
Then she realized the evident. The man was a total pothead! God, why didn't she notice it before? She had asked a freaking pothead out to breakfast. This sure set a high notch on the creeps SHE had asked out. All the signs were there. The way he acted - distant from the world and disconnected. And the sunglasses! He wore the sunglasses to hide his eyes - probably completely and totally glazed over, and strung out. She had asked out a pothead – an all time low.
Okay, no big deal, she told herself. I'll finish my coffee, pay the tab, and leave. She would never talk to Sheldon again.
"Why did you ask me to have breakfast with you?" Sheldon spoke. His voice was soft, and gentle - soothing.
"I don't know. I thought you looked nice, you know? I like to take risks." She said wondering why she had asked him out herself.
"If you wanted something from me, you're going to be disappointed." He said and she just stared at him completely speechless and baffled. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you?" he chuckled.
Figured what out? The fact he was a total drug-addict? Yeah, she was way past figuring that out, but by the way he said it, she wasn't so sure that was it.
"Figured what out?" she asked in a timid whisper.
"Lean closer," he said and she did. She leaned so close to his face that she could feel his breaths brush her cheeks. He brought a hand up to his sunglasses and slid them down along his nose until she could see his eyes - or would have seen his eyes. She gasped, but didn't jerk backwards like so many others did. Instead, she gazed into his eye sockets, hollows of flesh, and realized that if he did have eyes, they would be shimmering and smiling.
Sometimes, when a woman gazes into the eyes of a man, she falls in love - just like that. And it was the same with Adriana. When she stared into the eye sockets of Sheldon, she fell in love. "You're still here," he whispered with surprise. This time it was Adriana's turn to say nothing, and she gently kissed his lips.
The End copyright©VianneLee2004
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