I'm silly...

and there is no denying it.

In my online literature class, we are reading "The Two Lives of Charlemagne." For a fun extra assignment, we were asked to complete the unfinished story of Stracholf the Glazier (glass maker) found at the very end of the book. The author starts this story, but stops mid-sentence - and THAT'S how the book ends!

I think I had a little too much fun with it.

Still, I wanted to share it with you :)

Here's the beginning of the story (which I didn't write):

His (Charlemagne's) liberality reached even to the lowest grades: insomuch that he once ordered all hsi attire to be given to one Stracholf, a glazier, and a servant of St. Gall. When the wandering servants of the soldiers heard of this, they laid an ambuscade for him on the road and tried to rob him. Then he cried out: "What are you doing? You are using violence to the glazier of the emperor!" They answered: 'You can keep your office but..."

And here is the ending I wrote to the above un-finished story:
“…we demand that you hand over your sequined beret and your luminous light-up neck ware.” Stracholf stared at the rogues, his eyes as round as hard-boiled eggs. “Never, you rapscallions! I shall give you my rad leather jacket, my oh-so-fuzzy-and-adorable bunny slippers, or my flat-billed Yankees hat –anything, accepting what you require.” The servant who had spoken crossed his arms, a sneer on his pompous and protruding lips. “What song shall we request at your burial, glazier? For we shall not let you live unless you give us your hat and necklace.” It was glorious, poignant picture. The crowd of seething men. The one man, fighting, alone, for justice. After a moment which felt like hours, Stracholf spoke. His righteous voice was low, quiet, and resolved. “I can not go against what my heart tells me I must do. No, though you threaten me with death most cruel, still more awful would be the knowledge that I have failed the cause, that noble cause of fashionable clothing. I could never face my king again. Do what you will. I shall not be moved.” Then kneeling, he laid bare his noble neck. Oh Stracholf, you shall not be forgotten! Your noblest of deeds will be ever-remembered, and fathers shall tell their children about the splendid action of Stracholf the Glazier for years to come.

Yeah, it's lame. But I had fun!

Stories are like seriously the like most amazing thing ever. Like.

Heelloooo everybody!!

So, I'm writing this story right now. Not anything amazing. Nothing serious. (My serious one is to be written next year) Just for fun! I wrote this much, oh, a month ago, one evening when I was bored. And it's just been sitting there since then. So, I decided today that I'd post it one here! Tell me what you think :) And, yes, the chapters are very short. I love shortish chapters :) So, here it goes *cringe* Hope it's not TOO boring.

Introduction
Main Entry: Torelyn
Part of Speech: Noun
Definition: ?

My name isn’t in the online baby name dictionary. I heard from somewhere the meaning of your name influences who you are and how your life turns out. But nobody really cares what the meaning of their name is anymore.

It used to be very important, though; in the Bible, the meaning was all that mattered. That was who you were, and when your mom shouted your name in the grocery store or wherever people bought food back then, everybody knew what it meant. That’s probably why biblical moms and dads managed to call their kids names like Haggai and Methuselah and Dorcas without their kids killing them.

So, if my name doesn’t mean anything, what does that mean? My life is so boring and unimportant that it doesn’t even deserve a meaning? When I type my name in on the computer, it always underlines it with that annoying squiggly red line. I had to “add it to the dictionary” to get it to stop. Evidently, my name doesn’t even deserve to be in the dictionary.
Maybe I’m making too big a deal about it. After all, I don’t live in Israel and nobody will ever know my name doesn’t exist according to www.babynamedictionary.com. But it still worries me. After all, how many billion people have wondered, “What is the true meaning of my life?” What if it doesn’t have a meaning?

Chapter One
Main Entry: Pusillanimous
Part of Speech: Adjective
Definition: Fearful

Big words are my thing. I may be a klutz, I may have size 11 feet, I may say things I don’t mean, I may forget everything important and remember everything gratuitous (that means unnecessary, by the way), but I do know what big words mean. And today, pusillanimous is definitely the word to describe how I feel.
We moved to Fort Lauderdale, Florida at the beginning of June. All the boxes had disappeared at last and I was finally able to find just about everything when September rolled around. Audrey and I had never gone to public school before; my mom had home schooled us since we were in pre-k, and when she was gone, our neighbor had taught us. But this year, Dad decided it was time for us to go to a private school. In spite of much pleading and crying and whining, by the end of July I was enrolled in Small Grove Private High School and Aubrey in Small Grove Elementary School.

And now I was standing outside the huge, brick building, trying to gather the courage to walk through the doors. When Granny had dropped me off, I had expected to hear her usual, “Stand up straight, Torie!” I had a tendency to slouch. But instead, she had squeezed my hand and said, “You’ll be fine, honey”, which was surprising because she was normally so unemotional. But even that didn’t still the butterflies in my stomach.
I took a giant breath, and let it out. But I guess it was too big of a breath, because it left me feeling dizzy. Struggling to keep my already shaky balance, I walked towards the entrance – and tripped on the stairs. My bright green backpack slipped onto one of my shoulders. Standing up and brushing my clothes off, I looked around, hoping nobody had noticed. Walking carefully to the door, I leaned up against it. It didn’t budge. I pushed harder. Nothing happened.

I forgot my nervousness. As I slipped off my backpack (and almost fell over in the process) and rolled up my sleeves, I gave the door my most threatening glare. I knew I was weak, but I wasn’t that weak. I shoved it as hard as I could. All I got in return was an aching shoulder. Great, I thought, first day at school and I’ll get in trouble for being late because I couldn’t open the door. I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around.
A tall, athletic looking guy stood there, looking quizzically at me. “You do know how to read, right?” he said. Confused, I said, “Uh…yeah.” He turned me back to face the door and pointed to the bright orange letter on the bottom of the door.

PULL

………………………………………