Early writing

matociquala has declared today International Embarrass Yourself As An Artist Day, and asked us to post the oldest piece of writing we can find.

My early writing dates back to junior high; this one would be circa roughly 1980. It’s on a sheet of old loose leaf paper, falling out of the notebook in spite of the loose-leaf-hole-protectors I applied to it; pages torn around the edges and in one place halfway through; filled with cross-outs; hard to read because the ink is bleeding through both sides of the pages, and also because I had atrocious handwriting. I don’t know that I’d say I’m embarrassed, because I admire the girl who got this stuff down and who decided to make that first attempt at writing a novel quite a bit. But I am glad I’ve, umm, learned quite a few things since then.


Robert Brewster and his daughter Louise sat in the small one-room apartment. The former was hunched over a tiny desk, examining assorted papers and documents. The one-time governor had blond hair, but touches of gray were slowly creeping in. His face was once youthful, but this youth had given way to lines of worry. Only the man’s eyes remained eternally young, and within their deep, blue pools was an ever-burning fire of determination.

These eyes were perhaps the only visib;le signs of Louise’s relation to her father. All other features were different, from the brown hair that barely touched her shoulders, to the small young face anbd petite but sturdy frame. Not to say the girl didn’t look; no one would deny her fourteen years.

Louise sat quietly reading a book; she understood the importance of Mr. Brewster’s unofficial work. It was without complaint that she had travelled from planet to planet with him after the downfall of Kryptonia’s government. And thus, she was now on Acron, in a tiny, inexpensive residence.

A sharp shot rang through the air, riping the girl’s thoughts away from her book. It was followed by several more. Louise’s father rushed to the window, followed by Louise. They looked out to see several men in uniform, holding modern, exterminator pistols.

“No, not again,” Mr. Brewster said in a low, desperate voice. Suddenly, one figure in particular caught his eye, and the man rushed to the door.

“Louise, pack your things,” he said, and ran outside, gun in hand.

Louise ran to her bed without so much as a question. She pulled out a small suitcase and began to shove the contents of a nearby drawer into it. It was the same situation as so many other times. They were running again. True, she knew there was no choice, but why couldn’t they stay in one place for a while? It just wasn’t fair. The teenage girl tried to push the tears back, but they came anyway.

So absorbed was Louise in her own thoughts, that she didn’t realize the scream until after it had happened. Recognizing its source, she ran to the door. The sight she saw next would be a sight never forgotten. In the street lay her father, blood trickling from his head.

“Papa, no!” Louise heard herself yell as she raced to him. “Please, no! No!” The girl broke into a hysterical fit of tears.

“Louise,” he said, speaking in a hoarse voice, “Louise, listen to me.” But Louise just cried. “Louise, dammit, listen, I haven’t much time. They’ll be back. You’ve got to leave. G-go to Serpton – you have relatives there.” The man was silent for a moment; it had taken great energy for him to speak. “And Louise, one more thing.”

“What, Papa?”

“Whatever happens, j-just remember, I love you Louise. And nothing will change that, ever.”

“Oh, I love you too,” she replied through her tears. “Don’t go, please. I never want to leave you,” she clutched his hand tightly.

“You never will,” his voice trailed off to a low whisper. “I’ll be with you always,” and Louise felt the flesh grow cold.

For a long time the trembling girl lay weeping by her father’s side. It all seemed too horrible to be real. Only the sound of running footsteps made her lift her head to see the familiar blue and white uniforms. Within Louise a fierce anger arose, but also a great fear. She attempted first to carry, then to drag Mr. Brewster ‘s body to the house. When both efforts proved useless, she herself ran sobbing to the small shelter. Louise locked the door and stood shaking inside. This did not protect her long though, for soon the soldiers were pounding on the door.

“Open that door, in the same of the great Galactic Lord!” she heard them shout. The girl was silent, in hopes they would believe she wasn’t inside.

“We know you are in there, so open up!”

Louise was motionless, as if the slightest noise might reveal her presence for sure. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“Unlock the door and we will not harm you! We do not wish to take drastic action!”

Louise knew this was all a big lie, that the New Galactic Lord was nothing but a power hungry dictator. It was he and he men who had toppled so many successful governments and would he would stop at nothing to increase his power and wealth. He was the reason her father and she had been forced to flee, for Mr. Brewster had information needed by the Glactic Lord. The man had worked for many months outside the Official Galactic Order, in an effort to restore the piece that had once existed. But they had finally put an end to his work.

Louise heard a loud banging on the wooden door. She was terrified to realize that the guards had axes and were trying to chop down the door. Once they got inside she would be executed, and even worse, her father’s work would be in their hands.

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