So, a few days back I got it in my head to re-write something from my literary formative years. We'll call it a need to validate my continued expenditure of time on this glorious writing habit of mine. And it truly is glorious. Look at the difference between then and now, and tell me that's not astounding:
The Original (circa 2006) :
Sheeba looked out of her bedroom window, there was something out there, there had to be, as her sensitive ears had picked up the sound of something hitting the ground. She left her window, to finish getting ready for bed, and went to the small dressing room that was an extension of her room.
Tonight is the night that I will steal my way into the guild. Sessho-Maru thought as he took a running start and leaped over the ten foot wall surrounding the palace, and cleared it without even touching it. He landed in the castle gardens, where he saw an open window, perfect for getting into the palace. He climbed the tree next to the window, and entered the room. At first, the room was empty, but a girl suddenly came out of a small door to the left of him. She looked as if she was about to scream.
Sheeba Came out of the dressing room, wearing a plain silk gown, and was shocked to find a tall boy with dressed in an olive green sleeveless shirt, light brown breeches, and a light brown cloak. He had long silver hair, and some demon marks on his face. One second he was next to the window, the next he was behind her, holding his hand over her mouth.
"Don't scream," he ordered as he removed his hand.
"Who do you think you are!" Sheeba asked hotly.
"I'm Sessho-Maru, and I'm no one to worry about, I'm here for one thing, and one thing only, to steal my way into the guild," he answered.
"Well, since I want you gone, take this ring, and be gone," Sheeba ordered, as she handed him the ring off of her hand. He moved towards the window.
"Thanks," he said as he jumped out the window, he landed on the ground and jumped over the wall
Sessho-Maru landed on the other side of the wall, hitting the ground with out flinching.
"Well, did you get something?" asked a boy who was slightly shorter than Sessho-Maru, but not by much, he had blonde hair, and honey colored eyes. He was dressed in the same outfit a Sessho-Maru, for that was the common clothing of the people, only his shirt was navy blue.
"Well, if you have to know, yes, I did get something," Sessho-Maru said as he tossed the ring to him.
"Hmm…well, judging by the fact that this ring is very expensive, I'd say that you are welcomed into our guild," the boy said.
"Thank you Sasuki," Sessho-Maru said to the other boy.
A challenger appears! (as of 2011) :
Soren slipped into the shadow of the palace's wall. No pressure, Soren. Just get in, grab something shiny, and get out. I guarantee your head will still be attached come morning. Of course Malek would be calm about breaking into the palace; he could only gain from the crime. Soren, on the other hand, was risking his head. If he had any other choice, he would have walked out right then.
He listened intently, hoping to catch any tell-tale signs of people on the other side of the wall. That would be just his luck, vaulting over the wall into a garden party or a pack of dogs. Hearing nothing, he glanced around; there was no one in sight.
"Here goes nothing," he murmured, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. If he was caught, he was dead, even if he managed to escape. He stood out like a sore thumb in a crowd. Being one of the only towheaded palies in a country of dark-haired, tan people tended to have that effect. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, he backed up several lengths to get a good running start.
The wall couldn't have been more than ten feet tall, and he was a little over six feet tall; he could climb it easily. Without giving himself a chance to think through what would happen if he was wrong and there was someone on the other side, he sprinted toward the wall. Jumping at the last second, he pushed off against the wall itself to gain height and hooked an arm over the top. The garden below was empty, he noticed with a relieved sigh as he dropped to the other side, landing among the foliage with a dull thud.
He froze, worried someone might have heard him. Sloppy work, Soren, making such an obvious noise, he scolded. When no one came to investigate, he allowed himself to take in his surroundings. There were flowers. Lots of flowers. How in the world could the king of a poverty-stricken country like Leone justify such extravagant landscaping, especially in the middle of the desert? Focus! There was a window to his right, dark and near enough to a tree that he could get in and out without too much fuss. It could lead to his death or it could lead to regaining what he'd lost. Or it could be a supply closet, which wouldn't have been very useful but was certainly better than a room full of guards.
With the spryness of a capuchin, he worked his way up the tree and into the room. It took his eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness of the room, moments which would have been the death of him if he were less than lucky. Apparently fortune was in his favor, because he was still standing unmolested, head firmly on his shoulders, when his vision adjusted, allowing him to see the room. In the muted range of colors available, he was able to make out a small table surrounded by luxurious cushions, the remains of someone's afternoon tea still waiting to be removed, a large potted fern, and a door, slightly ajar.
He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Cursing under his breath like a sailor with a stubbed toe, he looked for a place to hide. With exception to the fern, which made a horrible hiding place by being on the opposite side of the room, the only place to hide was among the cushion. If someone was planning to use the room, the cushions were a horrible idea, as well, and he turned to go back out the window, only to catch himself as a pair of voices, one suggestive and masculine, the other bubbly and feminine, rose through the air to warn him that his escape was cut off. Trying to leave under the hope that he wouldn't be seen would be tempting the fates, and he had a feeling he was running out of luck.
Effectively trapped, he forced himself to calm down and examine his options. You're so screwed. Fingering his dagger, he wondered how many guards he could kill before they subdued him. Somewhere between one and ten, if he had to guess. Any second now, they'd stumble in on him and— His eyes caught movement again, from the other room. He could just make out desk or maybe a vanity past the door.
Fighting off the urge to laugh in relief, he crept closer to the door. There weren't any guards; no one was anywhere near the door; he'd seen a reflection in a mirror, probably of a curtain moving. From his new vantage, he could see the entirety of the next room reflected in the mirror. A lavish bed, an armoire, a vanity under the mirror, moonlight filtering through obfuscated glass – all the extravagant things he'd expected to find in a palace bedroom. He hadn't, however, expected her.
That was no curtain, he thought wryly, fixated on her reflection. Even if she hadn't been busy undressing, slowly removing every layer to protect the expensive fabrics from tearing, he would have stared. There was something familiar about her, like he should know who she was – at the same time, he would have remembered those assets. It wasn't just her body; the way she moved, with purposeful grace, niggled at him, asking him to remember what he had no memories of.
As he watched, the woman tugged a light, silk robe around herself and pulled a pair of tortoiseshell combs from her dark hair. Almost absently, she deposited them on her vanity, trading them for a leather-bound book, and lit an oil lamp near her bed. Warm light flooded the room, ruining Soren's night vision, and he watched her a few moments longer as she curled up on her bed and began reading. That was rare, a woman who could read; men who could read were rare enough on their own. Briefly, detachedly, he wondered if he could read. He hadn't seen a scrap of text since waking. But that quickly passed as he forced himself to consider the combs.
Tortoiseshell combs were a luxury in land-locked Leone.
This simplified things. All he had to do was wait until she fell asleep, sneak in, take the combs, and sneak out. By the time he was done, the couple in the garden would be gone, their tryst over with, and it would be safe to slink off into the night. She probably wouldn't even miss the combs, if her casual treatment of them was any indication. No one would be the wiser and he'd be one step closer to earning his freedom and his memories.
Time passed slowly, mocking him, and he grew anxious as she continued reading. The hardly stifled sounds of the couple outside only served to irritate him. How could she concentrate on her book with those two out there moaning and yowling like half-mute cats?
They quieted, presumably left, long before she closed her book and put out her lamp, as though she hadn't heard them at all. Maybe she hadn't. It didn't matter, really. In fact, it was better that she hadn't heard them. If she had, she would have discovered more than a pair of lovers having a secret roll in the hay in the loudest way.
Soren gave her some time to fall asleep and stay that way before he crept into her room. It wouldn't do to go sneaking around only to be caught in the act. Combs in hand, he glanced at his slumbering victim; he couldn't shake the feeling, like he knew her. It was so tempting to wake her up, ask her if she recognized him, knew him. His memories would be returned in time, but even a little hint at who he was before would be—
"Djaq?" She was looking directly at him, eyes wide with shock. "Djaq? Is that you?"
His chest tightened with panic and desire. It was dark, she probably thought he was someone else, but what if she didn't? It wasn't worth finding out it he was wrong, but…Damn it! he thought, pocketing the combs and dashing into the other room. He hesitated for just a moment at the window, still tempted to go back, to ask about this 'Djaq' and find out more about his past. If he wasn't Djaq, at least he'd know who he wasn't.
With a pang of regret, he forced himself to disappear into the night. It's better this way...
Seriously. That's a hell of a lot of improvement. I thoroughly kicked my own ass. I needed validation, and I damn well nearly threw my younger self in front of a bus to get it.
