Ah, it is my turn to continue the story of Sophie from Shinola. So far, it’s been rather interesting to see different writing styles and where imagination has taken our main characters. Nathan has graciously started the piece on his blog and has asked for volunteers to continue along the way, and I will be putting up a post with the list of links very soon. Without further ado, here is my contribution following Tom’s brilliantly crafted prose.

     White gauze curtains framed the tiny window that overlooked the waving field of wheat outside Sophie’s room. As she huddled in the corner where her small bed met bright pink walls, her glistening brown eyes gazed from the patchwork doll she clutched in her hands, to the multi-colored sunset that both warmed and comforted her. From below her haven on the second story, her older brother Alexander lifted a sweaty arm and waved before he heaved another bale of hay upon the hover platform. There were easier ways of getting the harvest done, but her family believed in the benefit of hard, manual labor much to the chagrin of impatient colony officials. 
      As she brought the large sleeve of her favorite blue apron dress up to dry her cheeks, Sophie managed to smile back down at Alexander. He hadn’t wondered why she was so upset or why she was hiding inside on one of the few remaining nice days before the ice season started, but she didn’t care. Although he said nothing to her, she could feel his love even through something as simple as a wave. That feeling ultimately quieted Sophie in the moments where her screaming and crying accomplished nothing but a sore throat and wet eyes. She needed to rest. She needed to grow stronger.
     It was under the safety of the quilt that her mother had sewn, or peaceful drawing on the easel her father had given during Colonist’s Day, which would help Sophie combat the intruder who had taken her hostage. In the brief periods where Sophie fought her  way out of her room, she had been asked about the anti-Sophie by many different people. Annoyed by the fact that everyone was calling that thing by her own name, Sophie at once decided to refer to it as, “Raven”. She had remembered during a school instruction download, that although the dark birds of the namesake were intelligent, they were known as tricksters or even harbingers of death back on old Earth. In Sophie’s mind, the label was quite suitable.
    On the rare occasions that Sophie fell back from Raven’s hold to the safety of her room, sometimes the once inspiring figure of her brother would be replaced and manipulated by the grotesque mirror version of herself with large black and broken wings, and razor teeth enclosed in a sharp orange beak. The monster would then taunt her with horrific images of the deaths of her family in various and undignified ways and laugh before it went off to more important things.
    It was in the moment she left the comfort of her memory and into the embrace of Blink that Sophie knew Raven would never be able to hurt her again. She held onto her friend as hard as she possibly could and although the transfer made her quiver with pain, for the first time Sophie felt freer than she had in months.
    It was Raven’s turn to finally know what it was to feel deserted and alone in the few remaining moments of its life. For Sophie, it was time to live.

Next part of the story can be found on Justin Ryan’s  site.

Tags: Pimping da Writing, Sophie from Shinola