I&#039ve been meaning to put this up for quite some time, and while I&#039ve been working on editing and updating this particular scene, I decided that I&#039d put the rough draft up here for people to gawk at. I haven&#039t put anything up here about the book lately, and it&#039s been bugging me that I can&#039t work on it more because of school. I guess that putting some more of it up here is my way of letting you all know (the four or five of you who read this stuff) that I&#039m not giving up despite my insanity/incompetancy. I&#039m not sure if this excerpt will ever make its way into the book because it&#039s more background information for me to keep me consistent, but it might. Depends on whether or not anyone likes it, I guess. Well, here it is:

            The snow and ice storm had lasted all night, and by morning, everything was covered with a layer of sparkling white snow slicked over with a glossy helping of ice. It was not the kind of weather that should have been taken lightly, but because the sky was high and blue with a crisp taste in the air, it didn’t feel or look dangerous, especially not to two thirteen-year-olds beginning the throes of puberty yet still in the grasp of playful youth.

            Solennelle, a skinny girl with curly brown hair and large brown eyes rimmed with thick black lashes and a look of perpetual worry and doubt on her pale face, sat next to Pierre in the donkey-drawn cart. Pierre held the reins in his large hands and stared ahead with eyes almost as pale blue as the ice on a frozen lake. Blond hair fell around his face in straight locks and over his large ears, keeping them warm from the cutting cold of the fresh start of winter. Although he was only thirteen, he was already starting to grow visible stubble that he shaved once a week. The pair were about the same height curled up on the wooden bench, and one might say that they looked like a small version of a bundled-up farm couple heading out for a day at the market. However, these two weren’t a couple, not as of ten minutes ago.

            “Buh, I still don’ unnerstan’,” Solennelle was saying, the heat from her deep blushing and confusion keeping her pale face warm in the budding morning light. The sun rose higher overhead, heating the back of her head slightly while turning her hair to a rusty red. “Ya said ya still like me, buh ya jus’ don’ wan’ be ‘round me?”

            Pierre, a stubborn and frank boy who was used to simply doing things his own way without much regard for how it might affect others, was getting annoyed with this girl next to him who kept asking the same pointless questions over as if he hadn’t already answered her once. His handsome features contorted slightly as he frowned in exasperation, still refusing to look at Solennelle.

            “Look,” he said bluntly, “I’ve already ‘splained this once. I’m glad I got ta know y’an’ thatcha helped me ta git a’justed ta the farm, buh now I’d like ta move on an’ hang out with other people an’ do sumpin’ dif’rent. Yer too clingy. I can’t go out an’ do new stuff with y’always taggin’ along er holdin’ me back.”

            “Buh I’m not holdin’ ya back,” came the hurried reply. “Ya can go wherever y’want er see anyone y’want, an’ I don’ hafta be there all the time. I’m tryin’ not ta git ina way.” She frowned and bit her lip to keep from tearing up as she though about not being able to spend as much time with Pierre–or any time at all. “It’s jus’ thit…thit yer th’only friend I have, an’–”

            “There ya go ‘gain!” Pierre snapped, finally turning that blue-eyed gaze on Solennelle. His look was hard but was so more out of impatience than disgust or anger. “Ya need ta go out an’ make other friends. I can’t be yer only friend ‘cause then yuh’ll cling ta me an’ I’ll be suf’cated!”

            “Buh I’ve tried!” Solennelle cried, the tears finally streaming in hot trails down her wind-chilled cheeks. “I’ve tried makin’ other friends–like…like Connie! Buh it jus’…Nothin’ ever works out; th’always leave me!”

            “Mebbe ‘cause yer too needy,” grumbled Pierre as he turned back to the road.

            Solennelle dropped her eyes to her gloved hands in her lap. Heavy tears fell onto the sleeves of her coat as she thought about herself and whether or not she was needy, clingy. It was true that once she got close to a person, she tried to stay close to him or her simply because she couldn’t stand being so alone all the time; she couldn’t stand herself when she was alone. At least, when she was with someone else talking or playing a game or fooling around, she could forget her own lonely state for a while.

            “I’m sorry,” she mumbled quietly, still not looking up. “I don’ mean ta–”

            “Then don’! Jus’ stop bein’ clingy, an’ go find yerself someone ta play with.” Pierre was watching the road and the steady progress of the donkey out in front . He didn’t want to look at Solennelle because he didn’t want to feel bad for dumping her like this. She was interesting to talk to–when she wasn’t being all gloomy or sad for herself–and she was great in bed even if he had been the first guy she had ever slept with. She was unique and creative, but Pierre felt like she was taking up too much of his time, and he wanted to make other friends as well. Solennelle simply required too much time, too much maintenance for a boy who wanted to experience everything and everyone. It would be easier to simply tell her to back off completely for a while rather than try and help her solve her problems slowly and painfully. He was young; he didn’t have time to slow down as so many teenagers believe.

            Solennelle had lapsed into her own reverie as silent tears trickled down her reddened face. She felt dejected and hurt, which is to be expected. Most of all, she felt ashamed. She was embarrassed that she couldn’t overcome her own doubts and fears to be able to have a normal relationship with another girl or boy. A few months previous, Connie had taken her virginity, giving her the hopes that at last, perhaps someone had taken a true interest in her and wanted to be her friend. Instead, Connie was doing what she normally did and had been using Solennelle as a distraction before moving on to someone she truly desired. After having been dropped by Connie, Solennelle was even more wary to approach the other girls from the neighboring farms. She was confused about what friendship meant now because the focus of most kids was torn between playing with baby dolls and learning how to make real ones. At such a fragile point in growth, Solennelle, who had always been unsure, was becoming more anxious and worried about everything, her fears and doubts multiplying to a point where she would lie awake in bed at night among her nine older brothers and sisters pondering questions about people’s personalities and relationships that are normally the questions left for philosophers and theologians.

            Pierre had moved to the small farming community about two months after Connie had disposed of Solennelle as both friend and lover. Pierre was loud and out-spoken, very bizarre for the people on the farm, but he had come from a large city far away where such and out-going personality was normal. The other kids had shied away from him, but not Solennelle. She was intrigued by the unique behavior of this boisterous boy, having never met anyone like him. Added to that was his handsomeness and pleasing charm. Sensing something unusual about Solennelle himself, perhaps because she did not shy away from him immediately, Pierre decided to latch on to her to teach him about farm life and the community he had just been dropped into by his father. He was an only child and the fact that Solennelle was the youngest of ten intrigued him as much as her pensive demeanor. She was much more intelligent than the rest of the yokels here who occupied their free time drinking and tipping cows.

            The pair of oddballs matched up, becoming tentative friends as they discussed rhetoric and philosophy, the deep thoughts that other kids were drinking away or simple weren’t bright enough to have. After a very brief period of platonic chats, Pierre wanted more, and Solennelle was willing, wanting to feel close to someone, thinking that sex was the way to achieve this sense of togetherness. They had only known each other for three weeks before they began their near-daily romps in the hay in the loft of the barn. They still talked all the time about everything–people, life on the farm, life in the city, their pasts and hopes for the future–but it was becoming less customary fr them to talk as their mouths became more distracted with each other’s bodies.

            Slowly, over the next month, Solennelle could tell that Pierre was getting more interested in meeting the other kids who had finally warmed up to his unique manner and speech than in spending time with her. Pierre was used to being surrounded by lots of friends back in the city, and he sought to have the same experience out here in the countryside. He still occupied himself with Solennelle who didn’t share the same enthusiasm for making friends as Pierre. She stayed back, knowing that these were the same kids she had grown up with. If they hadn’t shown any interest in her before now, why would they want to try and be her friend suddenly after all these years?

            The next month that Solennelle and Pierre spent together was less interesting to them both as they spoke less about the important things in their lives and spent their time instead either apart or having sex. Things were in a sort of stasis, neither really worsening nor getting better, but Solennelle was growing more and more worried as she watched Pierre start joining in the drinking games and pranks of the other kids, and Pierre grew more and more frustrated with the little solemn girl who was never completely happy and who was too afraid to come out of her somber shell to goof off like normal kids their age. They were growing apart, but neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject.

            That is, until this day when the pair had been instructed by their parents to go into town to bring back a new axle for Pierre’s father’s broken wagon. Solennelle’s parents loved Pierre because he had gotten their gloomy youngest out of the house, and Pierre’s father (Pierre’s mother had died a little over a year previous) was grateful to Solennelle for helping Pierre fit in on the farm. It was perfectly natural to send the two kids together because they were friends. How could their parents have known the internal turmoil in their relationship? Teenagers never offer up information to their parents voluntarily. Yet now that the two were alone and away from the farm, Pierre decided it was time to finally let the shoe drop that he wanted out–that he wanted to see other people and not be burdened down by such a high-maintenance little girl.

            Clingy. Needy. These words bounced back and forth in Solennelle’s mind as she silently conceded defeat. What more could she do? She couldn’t force Pierre to stay no matter how much she wanted him to. She deiced that the best she could hope for was that after giving Pierre lots of space, he would still want to be friends and hang out with her sometimes.

            “So,” she began tentatively in a trembling voice, “are we still gonna be friends? We jus’ won’t see as muchuv each other?”

            Pierre thought about this and turned to look at Solennelle who still wasn’t looking up. He fixed his penetrating blue eyes on her and responded carefully, “I think so. S’long as ya don’ git too clingy. I wanna be able ta spend more time with my new friends.”

            Solennelle still didn’t look up but thought about this. Although she would likely go back to being lonely most of the time, at least this way she wouldn’t lose Pierre completely.

            The tears had dried on her cool cheeks and her nose ran as much from the cold weather as from her crying. Rubbing her nose with the back of her gloved hand, she turned to Pierre and asked while blushing, “So zis mean thit we won’t have se–-thit we won’t. . .um, still have s–”

            Pierre knew what Solennelle was trying to ask, and he briefly considered this. He liked having sex with Solennelle. There, at least, she was full of surprises and never seemed to suffer from her usual melancholy and awkwardness. The sex was fine; the normal friendship was not.

            “I dunno,” Pierre said shrugging, keeping her from having to finish her question. “We cud still do that sometimes if y’wanna.”

            Seeing this as a small ray of hope that she would still get to spend some time alone with Pierre, Solennelle smiled wanly and said, “Okay.”

            They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, neither daring to look at the other as they traveled on into the morning. The sun was rising higher into the sky as they climbed slowly around the peak of a hill. The dirt road below them was not visible beneath the thick layers of snow and ice which the donkey’s hooves broke and cracked with each step. The creaking and groaning of the cart was the only sound to be heard beside the breathing of the animal pulling them.

            Ahead of them, a dip in the road which was normally visible from a distance had been filled in with snow then leveled off with slick ice which was weakening in the sun’s rays. The donkey stepped onto the area over the hole and broke through the ice up to its knees. This sudden and unexpected lurching jerked the cart which was already precariously balanced on the steep slope.

            “Woah!” Pierre yelled as the cart slid to the left abruptly. The animal was having difficulty getting its legs out of the broken ice and deep snow, and it was having a harder time maintaining its footing, trapped as it was. Solennelle grabbed onto the edge of the bench as the cart slid again.

            There was a moment of stillness. The cart stopped creaking and the donkey seemed to cease its struggling to free itself. The air was silent but sharp with anticipation.

            Solennelle turned to look at Pierre who turned to her, the same look of questioning in those clear blue eyes, wondering if they had stopped moving.

            Snap.

            The left wheel having been bent oddly the last time the cart had lurched now broke off the axle and the entire cart fell heavily to one side, throwing its passengers down the steep slope of the hill. Sliding down ice and snow like they each had done hundreds of times when they were smaller, Solennelle and Pierre did not find this sledding amusing at all. Bouncing off shrubs and rocks, they tumbled headlong down the hill which seemed to never want to stop descending.

            Solennelle came to a stop first, slamming into a tree, luckily with her arms in front of her chest to cushion the blow and keep from breaking her precious ribs. Her hands and forearms stung from the blow, and her body ached from having crashed into so many obstacles.

            Blinking snow from her long lashes, she shook her head to loosen the curls clinging to her face. She paused and listened for sounds of movement or for Pierre’s voice. Not hearing anything, she pushed back from the tree to roll onto her back. Half-sitting up, she looked up the slope to where the donkey had finally freed itself and was standing placidly on the slope next to the overturned cart that had not slipped further because it had become wedged against the thick snow and ice.

            Glancing around, she didn’t see Pierre. He had slid further down the hill out of her sight. Calling out his name, Solennelle waited for his response. Not hearing one nor any movement, she grudgingly stood up on her bruised and scraped legs. Brushing snow off her clothes and out of her hair, she walked around the tree and found Pierre.

            Sprawled out on the snow a few arm’s lengths away, Pierre was lying on his stomach on the snow at a funny angle, his head further down the slope than his feet so that she couldn’t see his face. Carefully picking her way down the slippery hill, Solennelle walked down to see why Pierre hadn’t gotten up.

            Her answer came immediately when she saw his blank, staring, icy blue eyes. Pierre’s head had smashed into a large rock, and his skull was now split open all over the ground. The ice and snow had melted slightly from the large amount of hot blood that had splattered in a large jet from Pierre’s temple.

            Solennelle stared. Her arms to her side, her legs stiff, knees locked, and her large brown eyes fixed on the never-blinking blue eyes of Pierre. She looked at all the blood that seemed so much brighter since it was the only color against a page of pure white snow and his pallid face. It was as though a male cardinal had fallen beneath Pierre’s head and his feathers were scattered against the ground around the large rock.

            Still, Solennelle stared, thinking about the image of a bright red cardinal, not thinking about Pierre’s blood because she couldn’t bring herself to. She couldn’t comprehend that even though he was lying there not moving, not breathing, that he wasn’t going to blink because she expected him to. She expected him to put his hands beneath him to pick himself up so they could take the donkey home to explain what had happened here to their parents. It didn’t register that this meant his still hands would never caress her body again nor would his open mouth ever find its way around his laughs or her lips.

            His death didn’t make sense. As she stood there numbly staring at his cooling corpse, she didn’t move, she didn’t speak, and she hardly breathed. When it finally dawned on her that Pierre wasn’t going to get up, that he was dead, she still didn’t budge. It was too much fro her to believe. Death is no foreigner to a farmgirl who sees pigs and chickens slaughtered–even doing some of the killing herself–but this was a human, a child, the only boy she had let herself open up to.

            She was still standing there when a group of four pilgrims came along the road above her and saw the broken cart and shivering donkey. Spying her down the hill, they joined her and asked earnestly about what had happened. The four of them shrank back when they saw the hollowness in her eyes and she turned slowly to face them.

            “Pierre,” was all she said to the men and woman who had come up behind her as she looked away from Pierre’s sill form on the snow. They had a hard time getting any information from her other than this, her mind frozen as the world around them. Finally, two of the group went on to the farms nearby where they knew they could find people to come look after this ghost-white girl. Solennelle’s farm was the closest and only a half an hour away, and her parents came back along with Pierre’s father who fell into the snow by his dead son. Solennelle’s parents couldn’t get her to talk either, and they ended up simply taking her back to the house where they planted her in front of the fire to warm herself.

            “Such a terrible shock t’lose her bes’ friend like that,” Solennelle heard her mother say to her father. They left her alone in front of the fire as they went to console Pierre’s father.

            But Solennelle wasn’t about to warm up at the hearth’s amber glow. The blood in her heart had frozen like the plumes of blood on the snow-covered hill beneath Pierre’s head where his unblinking eyes reflected the blue key like the ice on a frozen lake.

I just wanted to mention that parts of this piece are based off of my relationship with my first boyfriend Clay, hence the name. I figured it was appropriate to name the character based off of him something dense (i.e., a rock).

Posted: October 27, 2004, shit I&#039m gonna be late for work it&#039s quarter to eight in the morning.