Good Night Sweet Prince
Author Name: Vianne Lee
Age:16
Location: U.S.A.
Email: vianne_lee_03@yahoo.com
Inspiration for your fic: I’ve always had an interest in Jack The
Ripper, even when I was younger. I remember staying up late at night and sneaking to the television to watch a Jack The Ripper
documentary on The History Channel. Anyway, the film, From Hell, was just an incredible story. It had so many levels of everything…so
much art. I just loved the ending. It was touching.
The Story
Good Night Sweet Prince (From Hell)
With all her love, she waits for him. And ‘tis only her love that endures the ineffable
anguish of eternity. The past is past, nothing more than the nightmares that possess her guiltless mind. In her little cottage
that overlooks the deep and timeless sea, she waits for her sweet prince as if he’ll appear upon the horizon within
that very moment. She’s safe there, surrounded by luscious spring and wooly sheep, just as he told her, just as his
visions had told him.
And with all her love, she waits for him, for her sweet prince for eternity; never renouncing
hope long after destiny has taken toll. Did she ever know that he left the world bearing only two coins? No, that was fate.
Fate, the bearer of good and evil. Fate was never knowing the words “good night, sweet prince” were whispered
in his ear and coins for the fairy men places atop his eyes so they he could venture into the Land of the Dead where he still
waits for her.
ãVianneLee2004
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A Fairy Never Dies
Author Name: Vianne Lee
Age:16
Location: U.S.A.
Email: vianne_lee_03@yahoo.com
Inspiration for your fic: My heart and tears are truly written into A Fairy
Never dies. I felt so many different emotions with this one. The film was just beautiful. Pure beauty. I was almost afraid
to even attempt a piece with Finding Neverland. I can’t really describe what the film means to me. I know that we need
to cling to our inner child because sometimes that’s all that can keep us sane, keep us going through the trials of
adulthood. My inspirations for this are J.M. Barrie, himself, Sylvia Llewelyn Davies and her children, Johnny Depp, and just
life.
The Story
Fairy Never Dies A Tribute to Sir James Matthew Barrie
Every time a child says, I don't believe in fairies, a fairy dies. And when I saw your light
burning out, I clapped my hands and chanted I believe in fairies, over and over again until my throat turned raw and the flesh
on my palms tore and bled. But I still continued to see your light burn low, and even as tears shed from my eyes, I finally
realized that you would never die as long as someone believed in you. And I will believe in you forever - from life to death
- birth to rebirth. Everlastingly, I will believe in you and as long I believe in you, your flame will never die.
Why is life so unjust? Why did she have to be seized from the world when all she ever did was
give? Never took, only gave. With the softness and gentleness of a newborn fawn, her heart brimmed with compassion and virtue.
So why then, did the only being of genuine righteousness have to be snatched from the world so brutally when she longed for
nothing more than the well being of others?
She left behind five boys, only in four of which did her own blood flow, in a world held captive
by injustice and odium. However, when she ascended that golden staircase, she departed the gravitons of earth in tranquility
because she knew her children would never grow up, would never die. Even while passing through the trials of adulthood, she
knew that each of them would cling to that inner child that gave a spark to life. And when life would pursue unbearable, all
they had to do was close their eyes and let their mind swim through the vast seas of imagination, seeing her smiling face
in every crashing wave.
It was only after she knew this that she could let go of the thin strand of life she had been
clutching to for so long. It was only after giving her love to one man, she knew she could let go, and she left in serenity
knowing her precious children would be safe with the man who taught them there were neither boundaries to imagination nor
inspiration.
She didn't die the day she ceased to fill her lungs with air. She didn't die the moment her heart
silenced within her chest. She didn't die, but was merely born again within the hearts of her children and a single writer
who brought a smile to her face, a laugh to her voice, and tears to her eyes. Though she doesn't thrive here on Earth, she
lives in a different place; A place more beautiful, more sacred,
more pure. A place found within the depths of all our imaginations. A place called Neverland.
And we can visit this magical place any time we like by just closing our
eyes and simply believing. Just believing.
ãVianneLee2004
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Mrs. Rainey
Author Name: Vianne Lee
Age:16
Location: U.S.A.
Email: vianne_lee_03@yahoo.com
Inspiration for your fic: I actually wrote Mrs. Rainey when I was suffering
from writer’s block on another story. I love horror films, obsessed with them, and I had this dream that was so…vivid
and chilling. So, I expanded on it a bit, put some twists on it, and I came up with “Mrs. Rainey.”
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The Story
My bloodshot eyes could barely stay open as I fumbled with the kind in the lock. I was extremely
exhausted. Being up for seventy-two hours straight could do that to a person, and I wanted nothing more than a giant sleeping
pill and my bed. On the drive home, I could imagine the soft suede comforter enveloping my fatigued body and my head resting
on a feather pillow where I would finally be able to shut my eyes…intentionally that is. At that moment, sleep seemed
to be more valuable than gold.
The door finally burst open, but my bag instantly plummeted from my grasp and hit the floor with
a thud. “Holy shit!” I mumbled and had to lean against the bureau to keep my balance. A man was lying leisurely
on my bed, flipping through the pages of a hunter green notebook. He was donned in gray slacks, an inky sweater, and a ratty
turquoise striped bathrobe that hung loosely from his lean frame. Ash blond hair fell rowdily from his head, a few strands
the same deep, secretive brown of his eyes.
“This is very good, he said lifting his gaze from the notebookl and twisted a smile at
me. My knees began to tremble and I felt my fingernails imprint the dark cherry oak of the bureau.
“Where did you get that?” I stammered, glaring at the notebookl like it was a form
of black magic. I recognized it immediately; the well-read papers crinkled from beneath the dilapidated green of the cardboard
bindings. It was my writing ledger from not even a year ago, but I had watched it burn; the flames of fire consumed it until
it was only particles of ash in the hearth. And now, here it was, just as I had last remembered it, in the hands of a man
whose stares had gored into my every organ. “I don’t believe I know you,” I said at last.
“That doesn’t matter. I know you, Mrs. Rainey.” Said the man in a deviant
southern drawl.
“You’re mistaken,” I’m not Mrs. Rainy.” I gulped. “My name
is Vianne.”
“No, you’re the one mis’taken, Missus Rainey.” His voice alone
was like a thousand needles piercing through my flesh. He stood up, walked over, and circled me with bitter critiquing eyes
and a twisted smile before gently pushing the door closed. I stood frozen, too petrified to even shudder.
“You’re not real.” I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath. “You’re
not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination.”
“Prove it.” He said sharply, standing so close to me that I could feel the waft of
his breath kiss the tip of my nose.
I bit my bottom lip and walked over to a chest of drawers. “Okay,” I said feeling
the man’s presence looming close behind me. Opening the drawer, I pulled out my DVD, “Secret Window.” “There,”
I handed it to him. “You’re not real. You’re only a character created by Stephen King. You’re
only a character in this movie played by Johnny Depp. Nothing more. So really, I know you, Mort Rainey.
You’re don’t exist.” I tried to be assertive, but I sounded more like a whimpering dog than anything else.
He hardly looked at his own face on the DVD before tossing it behind him. His face played a smirk that made my gut twist and
he sat back down on the bed with a knowing smile.
He took a black velvet case from his inner robe pocket. “No, I believe you’re mis’taken
ag’in, Missus Rainey.” He said stroking the case as if it were a loyal pet. My eyes quivered when he opened the
case and the gold and silver screwdrivers shimmered in the light and gleamed in the lenses of his glasses. My gaze stayed
locked on the tools displayed like the finest jewelry, each resting on a cushion of velvet. There were four of them, two Phillips
and a standard, and he brushed his hand over them, as if contemplating which one to use, before he snapped the lid shut again.
He rose to his feet and walked toward me, and I found myself backing slowly away until I hit
a wall, horror possessing my eyes. “You’re sure purdy, Missus Rainey,” he said, and seized my wrist so hard
that I could hear the crackling of my bones, and pain surged through my arm like it was set ablaze. As I winced, he smiled
a bloody smile that made me want to vomit. Suddenly, he began to whisper something. It was so quiet that I strained to hear
it, but it grew louder with every step he took. “Mr. Rainey had an ax…Gave his mother forty whacks…when
he say what he done…He gave Mrs. Rainey forty-one.” I gasped as I saw the fires of Hell flicker in the pupils
of his eyes and he hand rise above his head, a blood-dripping ax held lethally in his white-knuckled grip. “…Her
death will be a mystery, even to me,” he hissed and gored the ax into my chest…
I sprung up into a sitting position, and exasperated breaths left my body in pants. I was drenched
in sweat and trembled so badly I wasn’t sure I could stand. “It was only a dream,” I reassured myself as
I staggered over to the light switch. “Get a hold of yourself.” But as I flicked the switch, my wrist throbbed
with indescribable pain so badly that I yelped and hot, blistering tears scorched my cheeks. In the light, I noticed that
my wrist was swollen and splotched black with bruises. I attempted to make it back to my bed, but sunk to my knees when I
heard a crack beneath my feet. Lying beneath me was my “Secret Window” DVD, and a single crack blossomed from
Mort’s face. Abruptly, the screech of my alarm clock bellowed, shattering my eardrums into a thousand pieces. I glanced
up at the furious red digits of the clock. It was only four past midnight.
ãVianneLee2004
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