Isla: Hidden Memories.

Isla stood adjacent to her dresser and changed the oils that had been burning for many an hour. A night as chilled as this made it verging on impossible for the maiden to sleep possessing sheets as thin as the paper on which she had been writing to her father for the majority of this ever-lasting night. The darkness encircled her as the light began to dim surrounding her with certain danger and fright, her hands fumbled, shutting the glass screen protecting the light from even the slightest of winds, keeping the flame burning for just a few moments longer. It was an irrational fear that this girl held, one with no real cause or reason. The scented oils filled her nostrils, though the smell was nothing of any specialty it had a comfort in its fumes, it pulled happy childhood memories to the back of her mind. Often she would attempt to hold onto them, to distinguish what it was that her mind was trying to show her, but on every attempt she failed. Even her mind, her memories had deserted her. The wind howled from outside her chamber, followed by a weak whistle, clarifying that even the wind itself had grown tired of the coldness. She wished for Summer to arrive again.

When trying to piece together the puzzle that was her youth she often felt a relation to the warm air, where the wind was slight and friendly rather than haunting and threatening. Any memories, few that they were, all shared this similarity. Even now, in this chamber trapped in a world of oblivion she remembered the way her golden hair fell far across her back, tickling her skin that was covered only by thin satin. The sun would smile down on her as she gently disturbed the waters of the lake to which she knew she was not allowed. 'Do not cross the trees, the waters behind are dangerous.' Her father's loving voice would call, soft yet firm. Isla would have been about nine years of age and had never paid any mind to her parents, why should she have started then? 'She's a free spirit, Nick.' She would hear her mother say tenderly to her father, and in Isla's eyes, this was as good as consent. Wondering where they were now, she blew the light gently, as if frightened that even the flicker could bring an unwanted visitor to her cell. Smoke rose from the distinguished flame and she swiftly trotted to her bed and pulled the fabric  high above her head, hiding from the dark of the outside, yet comforted by that on the inside.

Night dragged on and she managed to steal just a moments sleep before she heard the sound of metal clanging against metal. The rattling of the old keys was a sound she both dreaded and was relieved by, it was time for her to leave this cell behind for as many hours as the sun shone on this day. Her chores began. You would believe that a maid for the one true princess would have lead a life of much more grace and honour, if you entertained this train of thought you would be ever so hastily disappointed. If it wasn't for her numerous attempts to escape from the palace Isla may be leading that life, but this girl had a stubborn mind, one that did her no favours and often landed her in situations that ensured her suffering. Just months ago she was forced to spend a fortnight sleeping in the stables, no cover for warmth, no food until somebody from the castle awoke and no social interaction other than the sorrowful eye contact of that of a guilty horse. This was no way to live. Isla herself was once among those up in the castle, but not this one, a castle that stood alone, many miles away, maybe thousands. The exact distance of which she was uncertain.

How Isla wished to run free across those fields again, her golden mane flying behind her as though she had the wings of an eagle and with just a slightly swifter pace she would soar into the sky overlooking the valley where her parents and other family members remained. 'A free spirit' She remembered her mother's voice, as sweet as the juice of a million grapes, as soft as the silk on which the princess lay every night, as tender as a new born baby's skin. Her hands would massage Isla's head when pulling her hair back into a long, golden braid before repeating the intricate design on her own locks. Isla perceived this to be one of the many reasons her father has chosen to marry her. When Isla stared into her mother's loving eyes she was deeply reminded of the waters she would sneak to. The calm and cooling air they held within them, they were so young and playful, yet buried deep below the surface they held the wisdom of a thousand years.

At night Isla would slowly infiltrate the room in which her parents slept, she would crawl under the covers a burrow her head into her mother chest, even at the age of nine she continued this habit, the darkness was too much for her to face alone. When her father complained at her childishness her mother's reply would always bring her comfort. 'Allow her to stay, Nick. She's a spirit of the light and so long as she is my daughter I shall fight away her fears.' Her father either had no response to this or was too tired to argue with his wife who, if persisted enough, would manage to change his opinion to match her own. This was another aspect of her mother that she loved, the security and protection that she seemed to carry with her wherever she went. And this was not only for Isla, but any man, woman, or child that was in need. The tenderness of her heart was reflected in her beauty.

Nicolas carried many similar characteristics. He was a broad man of a fine physique, he stood taller than almost any man Isla had come across. His face, although radiating deep wrinkles from years of wisdom seemed strangely youthful. Skin of a golden brown from lack of shelter from the powerful sun that seemed to glow with pride, and more often than not his skin was as warm as love itself to touch. A deep hazel coloured his eyes and when caught by the sunlight gleamed like two golden coins, highlighting his pride and capturing the beauty in his face. Hair a radiant chestnut would glow when swept by the wind conveying the importance and grace that this man possessed. He was not only respected... He was loved by all he encountered. It was an understatement to exclaim that Isla had been blessed with the aspects of beauty that her parents had. One glance at the faultless face could leave any individual in a state of awe and wonderment. When she smiled, all those around her smiled too. With a heart as warm as summer rain Isla could bring even a beast to its knees. She had inherited her mother's tenderness as well as the stubborn and rebellious streak that she had, this was paired with her father's sense of leadership and level mind. It was as though an angel had fallen to the earth.

Looking at the young woman now you would not believe it to be the same person. Her hair was short and uneven, it lacked the special glow that it once emitted, her gracious smile had become somewhat crooked and no longer displayed a set of ice-white teeth but a decaying yellow coloured set from years of bad nutrition and lack of hygiene. Her capturers had not been kind and neither had the years. Skin that was once pure and youthful was now raw and chapped from years of weather damaged, a face such as hers was not built to endure the conditions that she had been forced to suffer.

Once her family home had been taken and the land that she thrived on, conquered, she had been forced to run. Against her will of course, she was too young to fully understand, at nine years old she was still a baby at heart. It was a Tuesday evening that it happened, six years before,  setting eyes on her mother being pushed to the ground by a group of men, Isla ran towards her somehow managing to dodge the grown men targeting her. Making her way across the grass on which she had been playing, tears stinging her eyes, without fully comprehending the situation she launched herself over her mother's body just to be thrown back off again. Rejection penetrated her heart as she saw that the hands pushing her away belonged to her mother. 'Run, Isla! Run away! Don't let them get you Isla! GO NOW!' The sternness in her mother's voice was something alien to Isla, it frightened her and she dared not disobey.

The sun had long since disappeared by the time Isla had travelled far enough to no longer hear the screaming of women and children, the howl of men as knives, swords, bullet, arrows and countless other deadly weapons pierced their skin and found a new home inside their bodies. Unable to rid the deadly image from her mind Isla was forced to wonder of her mother's health, was she still alive? She had never witnessed anybody that vulnerable before, her mother, once so radiant and strong, forced to the floor, her clothes being ripped from her body, exposing the tender flesh beneath. And how many men were there three, four? Even more? Even in that state of complete vulnerability her mother had fought for Isla's welfare, disregarded her own life for the sake of her daughter. She maintained her honour possibly to the last moments of her life. An eternal sense of love and bravery filled Isla whenever she thought of this painful memory, and each time she vowed to maintain her mother's courage.

After many weeks sleeping on her own outside, scavenging for berries of any other food source she could find, the day came when she heard harsh footsteps and the vile curse words coming from just behind the trees of her safe little hideout. Daring not even to breathe she covered her eyes counting backwards from 10 in her mind as her mother had taught her to when she was frightened or hurt. three... two... one. She opened her eyes and jolted back in fright as the face of a troll appeared just inches from her own. A screamed escaped her lips and tears instantly began raining from her eyes. Cackles came from this beast and the many that stood behind him, spit passed his lips as he choked on his laughter and showered down upon her face making her cringe with disgust and terror. Unable to pull her eyes away from this deathly sight she kept them trained upon the ugly man. For his age he moved swiftly, abnormally one would say and in an instant he had gone from his standing position to being on his knees even closer to her face than before 'Boo!' he laughed in a haunting voice. Again tears streamed from her eyes fuelling their laughter. 'We've struck gold here lads.' That's all she could remember.

A sharp pain ceased to relent just above her right temple, the rest of her head throbbed in protest against the alien feeling as she wrenched her eyes open. 'Sleeping beauty is waking, sir.' A vulgar voice exclaimed. With blurred vision and the pain of a thousand bullet wounds Isla narrowed her eyes to establish her environment. It was much colder than her home had been, much, much colder. Making a grab for her clothes, she tried to pull any fabric across her chest in an attempt to savour any warmth, to her dismay, she found that she was wearing no clothes. Abashed, she scrunched her body into a ball and hid from the humiliation and covered her frightened eyes with the soft palms of her hands. The ground began to recede underneath her, she was being pulled up and placed into a cart of some sort, the journey began and not a moment passed when she summoned the courage to open her eyes.

Reviews

[C. Lee Battaglia]

Very painful! I like it though... We all go through painful things in our lives (Please read my story The Blonde Girl. I think you would like it a lot!) but these things help us grow!
Keep up the great work!

C. Lee Battaglia

[Isla Soul]

Thanks for the review, I did have a read of yours and believe you've truly captured the hardship the character faced. A very moving piece.

[C. Lee Battaglia]

Thank you so much! But if you would leave a review on it would be great!

[CA Anurag Sharma]

too painful but very well written piece of work....

[Isla Soul]

The pain adds to the emotion of the story, again all fictional but when reading the work os people such as Stephen King/Khaled Hosseini I find this a mild take on the topic. I appreciate your thoughts even so. Please keep reading as I update the story, there's more to come, not all of it is as morbid as the first two paragraphs. The aim is to create an emotional bond with the character from the start.

[RileyRedding]

The text change took me out of the story for a second.
That being said I did enjoy this excerpt and look forward to reading more.