Experiment with
story-within-a-story, based on Julio Cortazar’s The Continuity of Parks
I admittedly let the ending slap me in the face like a moth on a windshield. Not my favorite thing I've written by any means. I think it is cheesy, but it's a parody so that's kind of what it's going for. I wish this wasn't my first post on here, but alas.
~900 words
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In Medias Res
Randolf had just won his first duel when the subway came
to a screeching halt . Sharona wanted to screech when she realized she had to put
her book down yet again. She was truly falling for this spirited youth. The
image of the sparkling rapiers clashing together made her heart thump. It
seemed so real to her. She supposed it was the screeching of the tracks and
shrugged off this lingering image as best she could.
She tried to focus on her schoolwork as best as she
could, but when she glanced at her book bag, the ornate gold-leafed cover
seduced her, winking at her even under the dull fluorescent lighting of the
classroom. She hastily scribbled her answers, all concern for correctness
forgotten, and nearly lunged at the tempting tome. She cracked the book open
and was immediately sucked into the Elizabethan world of Randolph’s, with the
swarthy Spaniard pirates, the elegantly dressed ladies, and, of course, the
object of her affections, the charming Randolph himself. She delved deeper into
his life, examining facets of his personality like a precious diamond. He did
indeed have many facets.
Though he was the son of a Duke, Randolph Worthington was
not afraid to get his hands dirty, often aiding his father’s serfs in what
little ways he could. He protected the women from the vicious Spaniard threats
and was an avid patron of the theater, even Shakespeare himself. Sharona
admired his culture, kindness, and strength. She was a bit distressed when the
conflict came about: despite being engaged to a wealthy Baroness, he had fallen
in love with one of her handmaids. Her heart keened to the strum of his lute
when he played a tune for his lover, a tune she could almost hear wafting
around her, enveloping her in sensual folds.
She couldn’t bear to look when Randolph stood before his
parents, about to proudly declare his love for Margaret and, unable to stop
reading, she forced herself to shut her eyes tight, even pulling her hands to
her face. He couldn’t marry her! She
could practically see him in the main court of his castle, holding the hands of
the cowering Margaret, her plain gown in contrast to the Duchess’, which was
gilded to the ruff. She twitched and something moved near her face. She
flinched.
A fan fluttered in her hand. The movement brought all the
eyes in the room toward her. Randolph’s mouth dropped open, his teeth white as the
pearls on the wall tapestry. “Who might
you be, bold maiden?” the duchess cried,
hands on her hip, indignant at being interrupted. “I am…be…S…s…Cybil.” Sharona
said, thinking quickly, “Daughter of…the Lord and Lady of….Canterbury.” She
struggled to keep a straight face. “Fair Maiden…” Randolph cried, dropping to
one knee before her, “Upon thine visage I see a coral blush so fine, as a rose
before the bloom, seated daintly above thine chin and below such a divinely
sculpted nose as e'en to turn an angel green about the face and neck.”
Sharona’s head spun…green…sick? No…envy! An angel!
Envious of her! She grew haughty.
“Thou speaketh boldly, for an acquaintance so…recent,” she spoke falteringly.
Her mind raced to think of Elizabethan words. She threw in a sidelong glances
and fan wave during pauses to counter her halting thoughts. Randolph Worthington was enchanted.
Then the bell rang. Sharona stood for a moment, in shock,
as the rest of the class filed out. She looked down to her book, which had been
moved forward 10 pages. She didn’t remember a thing outside of her fantasy. She
shrugged and followed her classmates.
Though she was conflicted, itching to read yet hesitant
to watch her love marry another, Sharona didn’t open the book again until safely
inside her room. As she laid eyes on the page, an expansive lawn unfolded
before her, with Randolph lying in the warm sun while she sat on the side of
her legs. She was only slightly uncomfortable in her starched dress. He
strummed his lute again, this time for her. “Thou art my muse, inspiration for
mine every breath and bringer of laughter and song unto mine heart, an angel
fair gracing me with the divine light of the heavens.” He spoke earnestly,
looking into her eyes. She was unable to tear her gaze away and never looked
back.
It was hours before her parents noticed, thinking she was
up in her room doing homework. It wasn’t until dinnertime that her mother went
to get her. “I yelled, I shook her…nothing happened! She just kept staring!”
She sniffled into her handkerchief. “Probably shook her too hard! ‘Caused
this…what is it, doc?” Her father said gruffly. “Catatonic state.” The doctor
replied, not looking up from his clipboard. “Where did you get this anyway? You
don’t need to waste water laundering hankies. Use a damn Kleenex. Doc says
she’ll be fine, anyway.” The father continued, tossing the linen into the trash
can as the doctor turned to Sharona’s limp form in the hospital bed. He combed
his hand through his hair, walking out the room. Sharona’s mother looked from
side to side and gently picked up the handkerchief. She folded the initials
R.W. inward and slipped it daintily in her pocket before walking out, “Rodger,
have you seen my book? The one that Sharona borrowed?”
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