Pendragon

This is a movie some of my friends are working on... I'd love to be helping too if I could! :) If you're feeling at all adventurous (or even just curious ;) check it out! :)

Billy Boy?

Okay, I might be having too much fun with this... :) Oh well. :)

Our family was doing chores after supper today. Usually that involves some singing. :shock: What? You mean in like the musicals?! Well, sort of, only we don't usually sing about what we're doing. We just sing while we're doing. So, anyhow. On this particular day, my younger sister started to sing, "O-oh where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? O-oh where have you been, charming Billy..." She continues the song, where he says he found a sweetheart, but she's too young and can't leave her mother. Finally she comes to, "Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy? Can she bake a chili pie, Charming Billy?"

Mom interjects, "Cherry pie".

My sister says, "That's what I said."

I chime in, laughing a bit, "I heard 'chili', too."

My sister laughs and proceeds to sing it again to satisfy us. Only this time it comes out wrong, too. After three or four attempts and many giggles while she stands in the open refrigerator door, totally unconscious of doing so, she tries again with gusto, "Can she bake a CHERRY pie, Chili boy--" She stops singing at our stares, then realizes her mistake and we all burst out laughing. Suddenly, I notice she has been standing with the refrigerator door open the whole time, and I stop laughing long enough to ask almost teasingly, "Why are you standing with the refrigerator door open?" That does us in again as she shuts it with a bewhildered look, "I have no idea!" Of course with more giggles.

The moral of the story? Never think about what you don't want to say, or you WILL say it! Or else it is: Don't sing while standing at the open refrigerator... it freezes your brain and you sing the wrong words.

Have a great day... and don't think about chili when you sing Billy Boy. ;)

~ Ashley/Zaya

Of Goats, Fudge, and Misinterpretations

As I am preparing to type this, I hear from the kitchen, "O-o-oh-h-h-w-w-w-w..." and my little brother giggling. I look up to find him at the sink washing a pan... or, rather, holding a pan I can only guess that he had been washing.

With mild concern laced with humor in light of his giggles, I ask, "What did you do, splash yourself?"

Still facing the sink, he looks over his shoulder at me and says, "Wo-o-orse." Then he turns around and I stare. One entire pant leg is drenched, and I mean drenched!

"Did you dump the whole pan of water on yourself??"

"Yeah. I guess I better change," And he scampers off with more giggles. I could hear them echoing from his bedroom interupted once in a while with, "Oh dear!s".

Later he says to our Mom, "You should have seen what I did."

"Yeah? What'd you did?" she asks.

He laughs and says with respect, "That's not grammatically correct..." and proceeds with the above story.

Oh dear. Life is so fun. Now to the story I was going to write when this humorous situation (only rendered so because of my brother's cheerful attitude and decision to see the fun of it rather than the inconvenience) interrupted me.

Last night our family was enjoying our 'Family Night', part of which includes having ice cream. Mmmm! One of my favorites. We also had purchased some goat's milk fudge last week and I decided to have some of it again. We had all tasted it last week, and detected the infamous 'goat flavor', none of us enjoying it too much.

"I guess I'll have some of this fudge again," I said. "Maybe we should serve it at church..." meaning it would dissappear more quickly that way. "It's actually not bad if you get past the goat flavor. Seriously, it tastes like a goat smells."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation before Dad said teasingly, "Boy, I think I liked it better when you practiced on Jello."

I wondered what on earth he was talking about until he clarified, "You said the fudge tasted like a goat's mouth."

My eyes popped. I began laughing and said, "No, no! I said it tastes like a goat SMELLS! Oh dear..."

We all laughed and to my amazment several other family memebers informed me they had thought I'd said 'goat's mouth' too. What is this world coming to?

*Ahem*. And just to clarify, we were never in the habit of 'practicing' on Jello... that was purely joke on Dad's part.

Now that I have recovered my dignity (I hope?), I shall take my leave.

~ Ashley/Zaya

Hearts Journey Home

Well, this is it folks. After frustrating days of being unable to think or imagine before and after a brief flash of inspiration in the watches of the night I experienced a few days ago, I have decided the first chapter of the book I have written and am currently editing is decent enough to post. But be forewarned. I do not intend to post the entire 350+ page book here for various reasons, so if you read this chapter, know that you will not get the entire story here, and perhaps not even another chapter. For this reason I hesitate to even post one chapter lest people have my neck for giving them only a partial story. :)

Please comment! I need to know what people think... honestly. It will help me in editing the rest of this book before I send it to printing. :)

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Hearts Journey Home

CHAPTER 1

Sorryl hunched closer to his brother and pulled his arms into his shirtsleeves in an effort to keep warm. He glanced up at his brother. Trey was still trying to force himself to eat the moldy crust they had discovered in a garbage heap. As hunger pangs gripped his stomach, Sorryl reluctantly pulled one arm from his shirt and took another nibble of his bread. He swallowed without chewing so he wouldn’t have to taste it.

Trey glanced understandingly at his little brother and wrapped an arm over his shoulders as they tried to lend each other warmth and strength. In order to ignore the taste of the bread he was attempting to eat, Trey allowed his mind to wander, something he usually avoided the last few weeks. He tried to keep his thoughts on the present lately, for the past was too painful, and the future too frightening and lonely to dwell on.

Suddenly, Sorryl leaped to his feet, “Trey, watch out!”

Trey’s head snapped up as an older boy roughly grabbed him and pulled him to his feet, sneering, “Whad’ya know, Albert. I think this is just the type of boy we were looking for.” His raspy voice broke off in a harsh laugh as the boy leered at Sorryl. “And this other little boy here. I’m sure you want us to let this boy go, ey?”

Sorryl clenched his fists at his side and threw his chin up, “Yes. You put him down now!”

“What is he, a friend? Why should you care what we do with him?”

Sorryl’s eyes flashed, “Let him go!”

Albert spoke now, “We-e-e-ll.” He drawled. “Maybe we’d let him go. But you’d have to do us a favor first.”

Sorryl just bore his eyes into the boy.

“So, we think we’re tough, do we? Brady, look at the little guy. He’s trying to shoot daggers through me!” Albert mocked.

Brady laughed and shook Trey, “Your little companion thinks he can get you free, it seems.”

Trey growled through clenched teeth, “Leave him alone!”

The boys just laughed, “You young'uns sure do like to think you’re tough. But you’re really just sissies. You’d never get away from us.”

Sorryl could stand no more. Recklessly, he lunged at the boy called Brady. He caught the tormentor off-guard, but Sorryl’s small body was not enough to make much effect on the bigger boy.

“Sorryl, don’t!” Trey pled, but he was too late.

Albert roughly swooped Sorryl up and dangled him above the ground. His voice took on a coaxing tone, “Now, we know you want your little friend released, but you’ll have to do what we tell you or we won’t let him go.”

Sorryl just let out an infuriated yell and kicked the boy in the shins.

Albert dropped him and his voice grew threatening, “Now. You will go and get that money box on the corner there. When you give it to us, we’ll let this other boy go.”

Sorryl’s eyes flew wide and he leaped to his feet once more. They were asking him to steal? His mind raced as he groped for another option. But none presented itself and he just mutely glared at the boys until Albert roughly shoved him in the direction of the vendor with the money box, whispering threateningly, “Go, little brat! You know there’s no other way.”

Sorryl hesitated and glanced at Trey.

With an evil grin, Albert twisted Trey’s arm so that the boy cried out in pain despite his stiff resolve to make no sound.

His chest burning with rage, yet limp in helplessness, he dashed off to do his detestable duty… or whatever it was.

Sorryl snuck toward the money box, his heart hammering within his chest. He reached out and grabbed hold of the box. Now to get away with it. Suddenly, Sorryl jumped in terror as rough hands locked about his small arms. As he twisted around to see who it was, a gasp of despair escaped him. No! It can’t be! I’m done for now! Sorryl broke free of his shock and terror as he cried beseechingly, “No, sir! Please! I won’t take it!”

“You’re right, you won’t!” growled the New York City police officer, shaking the four-year-old he had seized. Suddenly, there was a shout and a clatter of feet in the ally nearby, but when the officer turned to see what it was all that met his gaze was an astonished boy lying in the filthy street.

When Trey saw his brother in the policeman’s grasp, he leaped to his feet again, his heart pulsing. Flames of anger tore at his chest as he glanced behind him to see where Albert and Brady had gone, but the cowards had already fled around the corner. He turned back to this new trouble before him, gulping down the anger. It won’t do you any good to stay upset, Trey. You’d better just calm down and figure out what to do, he reprimanded himself. Jesus, please help me! For a moment, the six-year-old hesitated. What now? With a burst of courage and determination, he made his decision. “Sir! Sir! Please!” As he saw the officer give his little brother a pinch on the cheek, his heart swelled and he finally gave up that seemingly useless approach. Indignation burned in his chest as he shifted his gaze from the pink spot on his little brother’s cheek to the officer’s irritated back. How dare that officer? Resolutely, he squared his small, though surprisingly broad, shoulders and pounced onto the policeman.

“Hey! Y-you scoundrel!” the officer yelled, catching his balance just in time. He glared angrily at these two street urchins.

Suddenly, shame flooded Trey. He knew he was supposed to respect the officer, but he had been so desperate to rescue his brother. A vision of his mother rose before his eyes and he drew in a sharp breath. I’m sorry Mama. Her eyes met his, full of sadness and love. Trey’s heart clenched within him. No matter the desperate situation, he should have had more respect toward the officer. Mama! Why couldn’t you be here to help me know what to do? No answer. He had known there wouldn’t be, not from his mother. Not ever again. He clenched his eyes shut. Oh! Why has the world suddenly become so cold and unfriendly these last weeks? Why?

Trey’s next words carried this lonely ache and a plea for help into their respectful, though desperate tones, “Please leave him be! ‘Twasn’t his fault! Those boys made him. Oh, please!” His voice broke and he tried to choke back a heart-rending sob. Why did those boys have to find them and harass them? Didn’t they know it was already hard enough to live?

The police officer only sputtered angrily and shook the boy off his back, catching hold of him as well. “I saw no ‘other boys’! Where are your mother and father?”

At this question, pain filled the brothers’ eyes and both looked down with a choking sound, but gave no other response. How could they speak? If they once opened their mouths, the boys feared all the built up pain and sorrow that chiseled relentlessly away at their young hearts would burst out. The officer definitely would not take kindly to that. So the dark-haired brothers clamped their quivering lips and blue eyes shut and mutely awaited their fate.

At their silence, the officer pressed on in half-accusing, half-sarcastic tones, “Afraid to tell me, ey?” He paused to growl under his breath, “Little troublemakers,” then impatiently rattled Trey, “Better tell, it’ll be better for you that way.”

Trey laboriously worked his lips, but no words would come. Finally, with a great effort, he stuttered brokenly, “Th-they’re g-gone,” gulping down a sob that caught in his throat.

“Oh, likely excuse,” the merciless policeman pressed on. He was tired of all these street kids making trouble. “Have they left on vacation without you?” he scoffed.

“N-no s-sir.”

“Well, then, where are they?”

Trey gulped, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He must make his voice work and answer the officer. Swallowing hard, he finally managed to whisper, “I-in… H-Heaven, s-s-sir.”

Sorryl just stood there, trembling as he glanced back and forth between the officer and his cherished older brother, unable to speak a word. But though they were close to tears, both boys possessed an aura of strength and bravery, so that as the policeman’s eyes bored into them, he was put in mind of the budding knights of old. This only served to make him angrier. These children aught to be cowering in fear of his power and know that they were not worthy to meet his eyes, dirty street urchins that they were. Instead, their gazes were now locked with his. And such pure, unwavering gazes they were!

Giving way to his irritation, the officer sneered, “Oh, so you’re an original. Usually they say, ‘a long ways away, sir,’ looking ever so innocent.”

Trey swallowed hard. “I-I m-m-mean, s-sir…” he halted painfully.

Believing the stubborn boy might actually be acknowledging the truth now, the officer gave him a prompting pinch on the cheek.

Trey flinched, resisting the urge to place his hand over the stinging cheek. The officer shouldn’t know how it had hurt. Instead, he drew a shaky but resolved breath and continued with difficulty, “I mean that they’re…” He gulped, “D-dead.” Trey’s face contorted in inward pain for a moment before it relaxed into an unreadable expression as he shoved his hurt deep down. He thrust out his chin in determination as it endeavored to rise to the surface once more.

At last, the officer understood, “Well then, you are orphans, and belong in the orphanage.” He paused a moment, then muttered bitterly, “Haven’t seen many street kids this well mannered, even if you do throw the older one’s obstinate attitude in. They must’ve had a good mother long enough to adopt some of her gentleness and learn some good manners. Well, they’ll soon be tough and hardened like the rest of the unfortunates running around. I can see it happening already. I’d best get them while I can.” With that, the officer began dragging them in the direction of the Children’s Home.

Fear gripped Trey and Sorryl’s young hearts anew as they were pulled along.

Sorryl silently berated himself for even attempting to steal, even if it was to save his brother. Now he had gotten Trey in trouble too. But it was too late for regrets now. He had done it, and because Trey had tried to defend him, now his older brother was forced to pay the consequences with him.

Their hearts breaking, Trey and Sorryl strained against the police officer in an attempt to escape, for they had heard dreadful stories of the orphanage and it struck terror in their innocent hearts. But it was no use. The officer was too strong for them.

Trey felt as though his heart was dying within him. Glancing at Sorryl, he knew his little brother felt the same way. It seemed as though their world, which they had thought had already been completely destroyed when their parents had disappeared, had found some way to further crumble around them in this one, short, yet seemingly tortuously long, afternoon.

Growing irritated at the boys’ struggles, the officer tightened his grip, striving not to let them wiggle free. As he did so, he suddenly felt a restraining, though gentle, hand laid on his arm.

He turned with a scowl toward whoever dared interfere and found a young lady imploring him with startlingly caring eyes.

“Please, sir,” she began, summoning all the courage her heart could find. “They’re so little,” was all she managed at last, with a glance at the trembling boys who were standing taught and dry-eyed.

Despite the vagueness of her plea, the officer understood, “Well, all the better for them to be in the orphanage. They can’t stay on the streets.” His answer came rather roughly because he was still irritated with the boys, though this stranger’s manner made it impossible for him to remain angry with her for interceding for these waifs.

“Well, what if they have relatives who could take them,” she insisted. Oh, Lord. Please help me! If only I could penetrate the hard shell I sense You telling me bitterness has created in this officer and reach that caring heart that is hidden beneath!

“Listen, lady, the orphanage will find out about details. My job is just to keep ‘em out of trouble. They’re lucky I’m not lugging ‘em off to jail.”

The soft-spoken lady was not to be discouraged so easily. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of the small boys being put in jail and pressed on, “May I speak to the children a moment, sir?”

“I don’t know why you’d want to.” After an undecided pause, he grudgingly gave in, “Guess it can’t hurt. But don’t blame me if you find something missing. I caught the little one snatching a money box.”

“I know. I saw,” the young lady murmured, blinking back tears as she stooped down in the dirty street so the small boys wouldn’t have to look up to see her. “What are your names?” she asked tenderly.

“I’m Trey. He’s Sorryl spelled with a ‘y’, ma’am,” the older boy answered, heroically stifling the flow of tears that would prick his eyes.

“What beautiful names!” she exclaimed with a feeling smile, barely keeping her composure as tears assailed her once more. She dreaded bringing up the subject she knew she must. It seems they haven’t been orphans for long and the last thing they need is to have a wound torn open again. Finally, she continued reluctantly, “Do you still have a house, where you lived with your mama and papa?”

Trey’s searching eyes met hers solemnly. “No. We were in a…” his voice trailed off as he sought for the proper word. He finally ventured, “…in a sharing house. And the owner threw us boys out when they found out Mama and Papa were dead and weren’t paying anymore.” His answer was uttered nonchalantly in an unfeeling tone. However, the shaky sigh that followed gave him away, piercing the lady’s heart to the quick. With her motherly instinct she could see the barricade he had thrown up. “Someone so young should never find need for such a thing,” she thought sadly. She glanced at the smaller boy. Trey had said his name was Sorryl... spelled with a ‘y’. Apparently, that was very important to them. She nearly smiled, but its shadow quickly disappeared as she observed the small boy called Sorryl. He was trembling a bit, but his lips were clamped tightly shut, for he, too, was trying to ward off the pain in his obviously tortured heart. She sighed.

The officer shuffled his feet impatiently, still holding the boys’ arms tightly. This lady reminded him of his mother, who couldn’t bear to see a child suffer. He had once been that way, too. But now… Well, now he didn’t quite know what the matter was, but he somehow felt… dead inside.

The lady glanced up at him in a mute request for his patience for just a moment longer, and then turned back to the boys, “Did your family have some friends?”

“We just came here, we didn’t know anyone yet, and Grandma and Gran’pa died in the sickness.” Trey answered, unable to keep the pain from venturing into his voice and eyes once more as he bit his lower lip to stop its quivering. His heart felt as though it would burst any moment.

Sorryl startled them by finally speaking as the pain and confusion in his heart throbbed into words, “And Mama and Papa are gone, ‘cause a man with beer ate them in his car.” A solitary tear stole past the little boy’s self-constructed barrier and sparkled softly down his cheek, leaving a clean trail upon the noble face.

Suddenly, the lady had to glance away from him. She could no longer bear the pain in his young eyes that looked far too old.

“He means they were in a car accident, really,” Trey explained, holding his chin higher and blinking rapidly as he felt his barricade weaken.

The officer cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. He was beginning to see a painful image of himself in Trey, and even in little Sorryl. With a pang, he suddenly realized that it was not rebellion which caused the boy to thrust out his chin, but rather determination not to reveal the pain that was tormenting his young heart. Something I understand all too well. He could still feel the pain in his heart weighing in his chest like a hard rock. It hadn’t become that way all at once. No. His heart had gradually callused over his thirty-three years of life as he harbored the pain in a hidden corner of it that he strove to pretend was nonexistent. Shaking these thoughts away, he glanced down at the boys and noticed the redness of their arms where he was gripping them. With a start, he realized how hard he must be holding them and quickly loosened his grip, still keeping enough of a hold that they would not manage to slip away. He averted his eyes, ashamed for the first time in a long while of his learned insensitivity.

“All right. Let’s be off now,” he ordered, softening his tone a bit, but still speaking rather shortly as he swallowed the rising lump in his throat. He glanced at the lady, who stood as he began pulling the boys in the direction of the orphanage, “If you want to talk with the rascals, go to the children’s home.” And, with that, he pulled the pain-filled boys down the street, a little more gently this time. Sorryl glanced back at her, stumbled, was righted by the officer, and then disappeared around the corner.

~ *~

That's all for now folks. :) Please let me know what you think.

~ Ashley/Zaya

A first post

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About Me:

Ashley

I love Jesus with all my heart. He is my Savior and deserves more respect and honor than I could ever give Him! I was homeschooled all twelve grades. I am a writer, and am also learning to make independent Christian movies and hope to be a good cinematographer some day. I love animals (especially horses!) and find great joy in just strolling through God's vast creation and being amazed! When I am overwhelmed, I love to venture outdoors and have a good talk with God with His peaceful creation surrounding me. I love doing anything artistic - sketching, playing instruments, writing, movie-making...Upon first meeting me, one's first impression would be that I am shy... but beware of that spunk hidden beneath! :)